


Through the Dirt

by Taste_of_Suburbia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Angst Balthazar, Angst Dean Winchester, Angst Gabriel, Angst Sam Winchester, Apocalypse, Arguing, Betrayal, Bipolar Dean Winchester, Bipolar Gabriel, Bonding, Carrying, Cooking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dark Loki, Dreams, Exhaustion, Fainting, Family, Flashbacks, Fluff, Friendship, Frustration, Hallucinations, Healing, Hell, Hoodies, Horror, Hunting, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Gabriel, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Malnourishment, Nightmares, Obsessive Balthazar, Obsessive Gabriel, Obsessive Loki, Possessive Balthazar, Possessive Gabriel, Possessive Loki, Possessive Sam Winchester, Protective Balthazar, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Gabriel, Protective Sam Winchester, Resurrection, Romance, Sappy, Secrets, Silk Sheets, Skin Walkers, Torture, Traumatized Dean Winchester, Tristania, Trust Issues, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Vessels, Werewolf, Winchester Hugging, Wingless, embracing, vengeance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-15 12:50:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 79,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_of_Suburbia/pseuds/Taste_of_Suburbia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who is the man lingering in his nightmares? Why such fierce interest in him and why the disappearing act? And who is the man who so much resembles him but is not him? Is his want to trust misplaced, is it a wrong moment for love, for just a mere taste?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Well It Was All Good

**Author's Note:**

> This is an alternative take to S7. It's dark and very angst ridden in some parts, but not throughout the entire story. Loki is the Shadowman and is the dark side to this story, Gabriel is the other half of Loki, the half that loves and is generally good. I am in no way Loki bashing, I am fascinated with him and have really wanted to write something including him for a while.  
> I have been extremely hesitant to upload this, been working on it since May. I originally wasn't planning on uploading until February, but I've been on this amazing site for a year (yay!), and I really wanted to upload something special for New Years.  
> This story is my heart and soul, something I've dreamed of writing for so long. It's very descriptive, but it's getting me such a great opportunity to work on characters, imagery (my passion), as well as dialogue. This is the start of something new for me in writing, a chance for me to really better myself. Dabriel is my beloved OTP and I really wanted to show them off here, so I sincerely hope you enjoy this and happy New Years!  
> Songs Featured: My title is taken from a line in Tristania's "Shadowman". I heard "Shadowman" and have wanted to write a Dabriel story for a while, something a little dark, so I finally decided this would be the perfect time. Title of the chapter is from Cold's "It's All Good" and so are the lyrics.  
> There may be more pairings if you squint & I may add more as the story progresses.  
> Rated for language and violence.

_~Let all the love inside the world_  
Belong to you  
Well I can’t understand just why  
You went away  
Too young to feel the pain and  
Bitterness of love~ 

There are three things Dean Winchester hates most in this world: someone refusing to get him some pie, people who mess with his Sammy, and not to mention… nightmares.  
They creep up on him in the dead of night, beckon him into sleep when he is restless and would honestly rather be restless than be forced to face them, and they take hold of him with such force it’s a wonder he’s even able to make it back to consciousness.

Sam doesn’t notice, doesn’t care, and even if one of those two prominent things were to occur, he’d still be lost in his own little world of life after hell. Sometimes Dean wants to shake him hard and remind him that he went to hell too, experienced the same torment and fears and blood lust. But Sam won’t get it, he is cut off from everything around him.   
He is even more lost than Dean is. 

So the eldest Winchester keeps these things to himself, hides them inside a cold dark shell that is now his withered soul. He feels so much but these nightmares are numbing him more and more night after torturous night. He does not know how long he can last, wonders if he should warn Sammy before it’s too late. 

Maybe it is already too late. 

Castiel is gone, perished after consuming numerous souls. He is not deceased but might as well be for the toll these souls have taken on him. And Dean has not just lost an ally, he has lost a friend, a brother, maybe even someone who cared about him even more than his brother does. Now it’s all gone and nothing more than a mere memory. That is much of what Dean Winchester’s life consists of, countless memory after countless memory. Most of them too unbearable to hold onto and remember. 

He lies in bed most nights, remembering, when Sam is asleep and he is waiting for the nightmares to take him. He calls out to Castiel as he remembers him, reminisces upon what happened to him a little less than a year ago. It didn’t last long, after the soul consuming the angel only lasted a few months before too much was too much. He nearly exploded, would have if not releasing the souls in time. 

It is habit for Dean to call out to him, he has done it many a time and doubt he will ever stop. He still likes to believe Castiel can hear him, and the thought of that, even if he doesn’t care about his charge anymore, gets Dean through the worst of the nights, makes him take a deep breath and relax just a little bit more than previously. 

The nightmares must only last for six hours, for that is all the sleep he gets, though it feels like much less. Sam once told him it’s technically not sleep, being tormented by things that aren’t real weighs heavily on the mind, even now, when Sam has bags under his eyes nearly constantly. He stares at him, at how strong he has become despite his own lack of sleep. He ponders whether hell made his little brother stronger, smarter, wiser. Dean doesn’t think about this much though, truthfully it terrifies him. Truthfully, Sam terrifies him. 

Winchester life just isn’t the same as it used to be. 

They still hunt, not as much as they used to, staying longer at motels than healthy and going their separate ways during the day and through the night. Dean’s too out of it to care most of the time, a large part of him wants to buckle down, live that apple pie life he never did think he truly deserved. A part of him wants to keep hunting too, so he balances it, somewhat, hoping he’ll feel better in the end. He doesn’t. 

They’re not together anymore, not talking and not interacting more than a few words here and there. They don’t whisper reassurances anymore when someone gets hurt, don’t have each other’s backs like they should. In a way they’ve fallen away, Castiel and the monotony and never-ending misery of life ripping who they were from their hearts and minds. Dean stares at Sam when he’s not looking, silently begs him to help his brother fix things between them. Sam doesn’t look, Sam doesn’t care, it’s all a lost cause and Dean accepts it. Has to accept it, otherwise he’ll lose his sanity. 

It’s not like the eldest hasn’t tried, to get through to Sam, to make his life mean something again. The two only hunt monsters and the like for things to do, not to save people, not to justify their harsh and unusual lifestyle. The life they grew up in, the only life they’ve ever known. 

Dean has changed, he doesn’t look at himself much in the mirror anymore. All he will see are bags under his eyes nearly identical to Sam’s, a body so unlike him now that he hasn’t been eating much the last few months. He can’t, every stare, every bite, every swallow makes him sick to his stomach. It’s strange because the Winchester roles have been reversed, Sam now eats more than the both of them, gaining muscle not weight. It’s clear Sam could take him any day, Dean would likely end up in a bloody and useless pile of flesh on the floor. Dean can’t look, he only glances away. 

When he looks, his own failure to sustain himself smacks him hard in the face. 

 

“You gonna eat that?”

He looks up from where he’s been picking at his cheeseburger at his brother, staring at him like there’s nothing wrong, having already engulfed two burgers already. 

Dean swallows the bite off the fork he had just placed inside his mouth, feels his stomach rumble and looks back down at his neglected meal. Might as well not let it go to waste, at the rate he’s going he won’t get anything eaten. So of course, he shakes his head, pushes the plate away from him, and looks down at the empty place on the table where his plate used to be. 

He clears his throat, “Sam?”

His brother doesn’t even look up from Dean’s plate, well, his plate now, “What?”

Dean stares down at his hands, looks up again to find Sam still not paying attention. 

“Nothing," he gets up and leaves their room, heading off into the chilly night. 

It was nothing important anyway. 

Dean doesn’t remember eating after that, can’t remember doing anything much after that for the next few days. Maybe it’s been a week, maybe it hasn’t, he doesn’t really know. They haven’t been on a hunt since last month, which is pretty much the only thing that gives Dean a small amount of sanity. He supposes he sleeps most of the days away, drifting in and out of lucid nightmares of hell and all the things he’s done wrong, all the people he’s failed. Primarily Castiel. 

He wakes up half the time to find Sam gone, a box of leftovers the only trace of him ever having been there. He stares out the window, looks at his reflection in the little mirror in the bathroom, takes achingly hot showers. Despite the heat experienced in his nightmares, he feels cold the majority of the time, shivering no matter how many sheets he throws on himself, no matter how many showers he takes, no matter how many clothes he wears. He is so cold, all of the time. 

There is nothing left in his life but cold. 

He throws up on and off for a few hours, his not eating food lately revolting against him. He feels so fucking tired, but he only manages a half hour before his stomach wakes him up and makes him shake and moan in agony as he leans back over the toilet for the millionth time. 

He’s practically down for the count when he blurrily sees Sam in the doorway. The sight of him is too much, causing him to lean over and dry heave again. Sam waits for him to finish, leaning against the door frame. 

“When’s the last time you ate?”

Dean shrugs as well as he is able, “Last week.”

Another fit comes over him and minutes later, wiping his mouth on his sleeve sloppily, he crashes onto the cold tile floor, too exhausted to pay any attention to his brother. He feels a blanket across his shoulders a few moments later, tucked around him hastily by warm hands which depart far too soon. 

He tries to remember where it all went wrong, the day Sam stopped effectively taking care of him. The day he stopped taking care of himself. Oh yeah, Castiel. 

“Thanks, Sammy," he whispers hoarsely as he slips away almost happily, if not waiting for the nightmares to make his life a living hell. 

There is no answer, only the howling wind outside.

 

Dean wakes up to find Sam’s hoodie lying on his bed, appearing so nice and warm, waiting for him. He slips it on and breathes in its scent, Sammy, nice warm Sammy. His Sammy. 

The hoodie engulfs him, makes him feel warm and content. He wraps himself in it as much as possible and smiles as he places the hood over his head. 

Unlike many days, there is also a note waiting for him on the desk adorning Sam’s laptop. 

It reads: _Be back at noon, getting us something to eat._

_Us._ The word seems foreign to the eldest, usually Sam will simply use me or just ‘getting something to eat’. Not _us,_ never _us._

An hour later Dean is thinking of Castiel, so lost inside his own head he doesn’t hear Sam walk in, but he does jump when feeling the hand on his shoulder. 

“Dean? You okay?”

“Yeah," he rubs a hand over his face, “m’ fine.”

“Come on, I’ve got the food. Let’s eat.”

He follows Sam over to the table and watches him unwrap and prepare the food. Staring at it makes him want to run to the bathroom, even though he hasn’t eaten anything in so long. 

He must be staring at it for too long, Sam shows his impatience, “Come on, Dean. It’s not like it’s dirt.”

Dean looks up at him, “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I just… can’t.”

Sam just stares at him like he’s the village idiot, “What happened to you? You used to love pizza.”

Dean shrugs, “People change.”

Sam shakes his head in certainty, “Not you. My big brother would rather die than change.”

“I’m just not hungry, Sam. Okay?”

He starts to walk away, unable to look at what he once loved before everything went so wrong. Sam grabs his arm and forces him to turn around before he can even react. 

“Dean," he grits out through his teeth, “sit down and eat. Don’t make me make you.”

The eldest is amazed at how much he wants to hold his ground. He isn’t stupid though, he knows he won’t last long. Not with Sam. Though he decides to try anyway, if not to test how worried and pissed off Sam is, than maybe because he feels he can’t put a single morsel in his mouth. Just thinking about food is making his stomach lurch. 

“Then make me.”

Dean turns away again and Sam grabs him forcefully, throwing him to the ground and leaning over him, inches away from his face so as if to intimidate. And he’s doing a pretty good job as far as Dean’s concerned. The look on Sam’s face is full of nothing but determination and for a brief moment, only for a nanosecond the eldest’s heart swells in pride at the hope that his Sammy finally has come back to him, has started caring once more. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Dean asks shakily in his failed attempt to put more bravado behind his voice. 

Sam’s hand is on Dean’s stomach, which is nothing much but a pile of skin really, to which Sam notices moments later and looks down at carefully and soon with horror. 

“How much do you even weigh?”

“Sam…” His voice nearly cracks at the hopelessness and shock he hears in his baby brother’s voice. 

And he’s the one who caused it. 

“No," Sam states forcefully, hand holding onto Dean’s stomach just a little tighter and almost, Dean dares to think, protectively, “answer me.”

“Dunno," Dean tries, “now let me go.”

His little brother lifts up his hoodie a little angrily but mostly gently, as if Dean is more fragile than he had previously realized. Dean jumps at the feel of Sam’s fingers violating him, desperately wants to move away to avoid this humiliation but Sam is still pinning him down, forcing Dean to watch just how much he let his little brother down. Sam quickly moves on to the three layers of shirts, staring sadly at each one momentarily, Dean shaking a little from the sudden cold, until his stomach is revealed in full.

His pathetic skinny little belly. 

“Oh my god.”

Dean tries to pull away but Sam holds him firmly, fingers gently brushing the painfully flat skin of his stomach and it causes Dean to whimper in panic a little before answering, “It’s nothing, Sam. Just lemme go.”

The look of horror on Sam’s face is too much for him to deal with, of how he failed both his brother and his body, of how truly worried Sam is about him, which he should only feel happy about but doesn’t. He just wants to curl up in a ball and hide, crawl over to a corner and cry his eyes out. Just wants to make Sam forget that this even happened, so he doesn’t have to see that look anymore. 

He squirms, fights, but his entire body screams at him to stop so he does. 

“How can you call this nothing?” Sam demands, staring down at Dean with such disbelief the eldest shrinks away.

“You’re gonna eat," he continues, pulling his clothes back down then pulling Dean up and supporting him till he can feel his legs again, after Sam crushed them, “whether I have to shove the food down your throat. You’re gonna eat.”

Sam shoves Dean down in a chair and hands him a fork, pushing a plate towards him, “Eat. Now.”

He knows this is Sam’s way of saying that he does care, doesn’t want Dean to wither away and die after all. And as much as the eldest hates this, he knows this is the only way, that Sam is left with such a difficult decision and he’s made his choice. No going back now. 

Dean nods uneasily, taking bite after painful bite for eternity before his eyes and stomach plead Sam for no more. Sam gets the hint and takes it back, finishing it himself, watching Dean very carefully. It’s an understatement to say that Dean is uncomfortable. But at least Sam cares, at least his not so little Sammy is back. 

“If you throw that up, you’re dead.”

Dean swallows the last bite and nods, crawls into bed and doesn’t even protest when Sam tucks him in, pulling the blanket up to his chin and even tucking the sheets under the bed as if preventing his predictable escape. Truth is, Dean isn’t going anywhere, he’s far too exhausted and will be able to rest easy now that he knows Sam is watching over him carefully and with concern. 

“Now get some sleep," Sam whispers, brushing his brother’s forehead lightly before heading out of the room. 

He figures he has to be controlled, otherwise he’ll slip away. For real and for forever. 

 

“Why the change of heart, Sam?”

Sam looks up from his morning bagel, “What are you talking about?”

“What, you suddenly care about what happens to me?”

“Uh, don’t I always?”

“Not lately. Why last night, of all nights? You know, my not eating didn’t just happen all at once, it’s been gradual. Unless you’ve completely forgotten about the necessity of eating.”

“So I haven’t been paying attention lately. You can’t say that hasn’t happened to you, Dean.”

He wants to break through to Sam, needs it. He just isn’t sure how to yet. 

“What happened to us, Sam?”

“Dean," he stares at him in absolute disbelief, crossing his arms and shaking his head, “what the hell is with you lately?”

“Half the time you’re not even here, Sammy. We haven’t been talking, haven’t been hunting. It’s like...," he runs a hand through his hair, “…it’s like we’re not even brothers anymore.”

Sam just stares at him and Dean goes on, “You never pay attention to what’s going on with us anymore, you’re off in your own little world and you might as well not be here at all considering how much we talk face to face.”

“So according to you drowning in nightmares is being here?”

“Fuck you, Sam.”

“Oh that’s real cute, Dean. And what about you," he leans forward in his chair, “all you do is sleep and lie around and think about how much worse I am compared to your mistakes. What’s your excuse?”

Dean clenches and unclenches his fists, stands up from the table and starts to walk away, Sam shouting after him before he can make it out the door. 

“You can’t even take care of yourself! How can you expect me to want to live with you?” 

 

It’s the same thing all over again the next few days. Sam rages at him, finding nothing else better to do, and it ends up in either one of them leaving. Dean doesn’t have the heart to argue after that first day, he takes the blunt of Sam’s destructive nature towards him. He takes the punches, accepts the words and insults, swallows back the tears and walks away before anything worse can happen. 

“Fine, if you don’t want me to take care of you, then I won’t!”

Sam slams the door and Dean can feel something mysteriously wet dripping down his face. He wipes the clear and sticky moisture away from his eyes, stares at the door for much longer than he should. 

What can he really do?

Because it’s true, what can he really do? There’s no knowing when or if Sam will stop. There’s no telling how much more he can handle. He’s breaking, his eating slipping up again, and his sleep habits are like some sick acid trip he can’t escape. The figure in the mirror shrinks more and more each day, until he’s hardly there at all. 

Sam doesn’t do it the next day though, instead he lays off of Dean and the eldest can tell straight away something’s eating away at him. Sam keeps on looking at him warily as if he’s afraid Dean will crack at the seams or something. Which isn’t altogether unlikely. Dean eventually can’t take anymore, and is about to ask before Sam speaks. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, Sam.”

No hesitation, it isn’t something he needs to hesitate for. 

“No, I had no right to treat you like that, to say those things," he turns towards Dean on the couch, “you’re right, I haven’t all been there lately. Especially for you. And I’m sorry, but things are going to change now. I’m not gonna let you slip up again, Dean.”

He sips the soup Sam made for him a little while ago, a huge improvement in his eating habits because at least he’s enjoying it. And he nods, believes his little brother’s every word because he loves him. And because he’s right, Dean is to blame. It is his fault. Because if he can’t take care of himself, how would he take care of Sam?

How would he be able to keep them together?

 

It’s been about a month now, if you were to ask when he came into his dreams. The hooded figure, the darkened silhouette…

The Shadowman…

It wasn’t always like this, Dean’s dreams were once only of hell, of demons and Alistair and tortured souls. Blood blood blood. Dark red and on fire. 

And now there is a form that has been taking him away from the blood and pain, into the darkness. The darkness is nearly as worse, if not for the creature just out of his reach whose presence makes him feel so safe. He has never been able to touch this figure, has never seen it turn around, has never heard its voice and never held its stare. He wonders what it wants, what it could possibly want with him. Because if it wants him, why is Dean left waiting around for the creature to pounce? Why is he given no answers, no explanations, no clue as to why he is now in the shadows of someplace he does not know, someplace that scares him, but that is definitely not hell? 

He’s talked to it a few times, asked it what its name is and what it thinks it’s doing dragging him here and then hanging just at the edge of his reach, silent and still. He shivers when he even imagines the figure turn around and face him. 

Dean doesn’t know when he started calling him the Shadowman. Perhaps the name was lodged deep inside his subconscious and then burst out, willing itself to stick inside his mind. And it has stuck, because he does call him the Shadowman now. And it is a fitting name, he just wish he knew its real name. 

He starts hanging around the Shadowman for longer periods of time, he is whisked away from hell sooner and forced to stare at the cloaked figure’s back for eternity. He does not know when it will end, he doesn’t know if he wants it to end. Honestly, he’s getting used to it. 

After the first couple weeks, he notices a scent in the air that either wasn’t there before or he had been too preoccupied to notice those earlier nights. It’s something sweet, not like pie or cake but… candy. Caramel and chocolate and licorice and lollipops. It drives him insane at first, knowing the scent is coming from the creature instantly but not able to comprehend why. Why would the Shadowman smell like a candy store? 

Despite his increasing frustration and growing number of prominent questions, Dean actually finds out he likes the scent. It’s soothing and the figure continues to be calming. It’s something Dean’s rarely felt, and of course, it’s something he hasn’t felt for quite a long time. 

He’s not sure he wants it to go away anytime soon. Every time he wakes up in the morning he craves it, misses it. He wants it back, wants the darkness back as quickly as it disappears. Wants the Shadowman back to ignore him and drag him away from his own insane mind. 

One night he is bold enough to ask again the question that’s been on his mind for all these weeks of uncertainty. He swallows hard and focuses on the Shadowman, on the creature who has saved him countless times and yet wishes for Dean not to know what it is, wishes to receive no thanks face to face. 

“Who are you?”

_He_ replies a few moments later. 

“Your possessor.”

 

It’s the voice, more than the words, that causes Dean Winchester to scream. He’s suddenly very afraid, extremely uncomfortable, feeling out of place in his own skin. He fears the shadows will harm him, and that the Shadowman is just some monster who likes to toy with him, drive him insane with uncertainty and then laugh when he finally feels in the mood to harm him. Dean doesn’t enjoy games, they remind him of a certain someone who was killed a long time ago, one that lived off of trickery. 

The voice sounds like thousands of knives scraped across walls, across bare flesh, and it’s a voice that’s mouth is meant to hold hundreds of silvery shiny teeth, preparing to chow down on the scarce meet on his bones in mere moments. He tries to run, but he slams into a wall and falls to the ground. The figure does not turn around, does not speak again, and the eldest only looks up at him, wanting to demand answers now but far too full of fear. 

He gulps the pain of hearing that voice down and focuses once more on the hooded figure. His mind pleads for him to try to confront him, ask to be taken back, even to hell. For hell is surely better than this nightmare. 

Dean closes his eyes and is about to become a far bolder man when he feels himself shift, and as he opens them again he finds he is back in his bedroom, panting heavily, sweat pouring down his hair, face and cheeks to pool into his neck. He checks the bed nearby to find Sam asleep and sighs. 

He’s not sure how many more curve balls he can take before he slips back into hell completely. Never to be seen again. 

And as he lies there in his bed, continuing to hear the voice echoing throughout his mind, he wonders why he’s been chosen, of all people. He contemplates why anyone would go out of his way to be his so called ‘possessor’. Dean Winchester doesn’t want to be a possession, or rather, refuses to be someone’s pet. He’ll fight his way through hell every single night to avoid that. 

Somehow he thinks this won’t be the last of the Shadowman he’ll see. Somehow he thinks he’s in for one hell of a big surprise the next time he dares to dream. 

 

Sam pays attention a lot more now than Dean likes. He stays up until his elder brother falls asleep, watches him to make sure he eats enough, keeps track of how much he sleeps and demands he eat or sleep more if it’s what he wants. Dean almost wishes he hadn’t tried to break through to Sam, to push his nerves so high. He wonders what the hell he even did to make Sam so worried, so scared. 

Dean fears Sam even more now, that’s why he eats when he’s told, sleeps when Sam hints to him he should get some sleep, stays in the motel so Sam can better look after him.   
And as said before, his little brother is scared for some reason as well, whether it’s Dean once deteriorating and now steadily improving condition, he doesn’t know, only that he can sometimes see the concern in Sam’s puppy dog eyes, and eventually chalks it up to Sam’s fear of losing his big brother. 

He turns over in bed to find Sam’s eyes closing, once watching him but now pretending it never happened in order to not give anything away. Like that trick could ever work around a Winchester. He looks up from his small plate of food to find Sam frantically eat his own, noticing him look away at the last second from his endless task of counting the number of bites Dean takes, and of course keeping track of how long he stays in the bathroom, to make sure Dean’s not throwing any of it up. He wakes up in the morning to find Sam always there, unless he’s out buying breakfast, which Dean notices becomes earlier every morning, when he’s out of consciousness and oblivious to Sam awakening. 

There’s a lot of tension between them still, Dean is uncomfortable and Sam hovers too near him, afraid to talk, seemingly content in just staring to make sure he can see with his own eyes that his brother’s getting better, surviving, on the road to recovery. Whatever the hell you want to call it. 

Dean doesn’t feel anything all, he feels sick, exhausted, scared, miserable. And as much as he attempts to hide it from Sam, it is indeed a lost cause. 

Sam knows he dreams, he must know he dreams, for some nights when he wakes up, a scream dying in his throat, he can see his brother breathing unevenly, secretly listening to Dean, making sure he’s okay. He doesn’t make it known that he knows, might as well give Sammy his peace of mind. 

He feels better knowing that someone’s taking care of him now, even if it is a little creepy, a little nerve-wracking. He likes someone bringing him his meals, making sure he eats them so he doesn’t get sick again. Likes it when he wakes up and knows he’s not alone, not the only one awake. He likes that he doesn’t feel like he needs to stare at himself in the mirror, to see how far he’s let himself go. 

Dean doesn’t shiver as much anymore either, which is nearly enough to make the whole ‘Sammy is watching me 24/7’ thing bearable. Sam comes back from wherever he’s been with big, nice and warm hoodies in black, navy blue, and burgundy (not gray, never gray, Sam says it matches the pallor of Dean’s skin too much), wraps his brother up in them without a word, pulls the hoods adorning them up and smiles a little, walking off to fix Dean dinner. 

He wears the hoodies constantly, when he crawls under the covers, when he eats, when he simply sits around watching TV, surfing the web, cleaning his guns or sharpening his knives. They keep him calm, keep him warm and comfortable. And most of all they remind him of Sammy, because every single one is infused with his beautiful scent. 

This is home now. Dean knows it better than anything. Sam is specifically home.

 

The third night after the Shadowman speaks, Dean hears his voice again. Strangely, it’s not as painful as the time before, doesn’t sound like knives and doesn’t fill him with unknown and dreaded fear. That’s not to say he actually feels safe again, he doesn’t know what he feels, doesn’t know if hell is better than this or not. He only knows, feels that the darkness is not as deep since he had spoken. The silence is not so overwhelming and the candy scent is stronger than ever, not sickening, just bolder. He wishes to see his face more than anything now, wants to know who exactly owns that voice. 

_Who are you?_

_Your possessor._

He doesn’t feel like he’s owned, especially not to this creature. He feels normal, doesn’t feel any different since the dreams of hell rapidly dwindled and then ceased entirely, doesn’t think the darkness has any effect on him. He merely stands there and stares at his back, hears those words inside his head, begging him to say more and not back down like he wants to do. He needs to know otherwise these dreams will drive him insane. 

Dean wonders how loud he’d have to scream to get Sam to hear him. 

“What are you?”

The creature laughs and snaps his fingers, leading the shadows to diminish and he is bathed in a pale gray light. He still cannot see his face. 

“Someone who has waited in the shadows to claim you. Who will not leave until you come to me.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

The Shadowman walks forward, but his face is miraculously blurred, even though his entire form is in the light now as he reaches Dean. 

“Whatever you want it to mean, human.”

He doesn’t like being called that, it seems foreign, weird, selfish in a way. Suddenly he doesn’t want to know this creature, and most certainly doesn’t want to be his toy. 

The Shadowman strokes his cheek and he shivers harder than he ever has before. And when he comes up with the guts to open his eyes, he sees someone who seems more than just familiar. Someone that made his life a living hell, someone who tricked him and killed him and someone who’s supposed to be dead. Yet here he is now, in his dreams. His dreams. It’s the last person, creature, he wants to see. 

He’s about to scream, for this to end, for Sam to come and save him from this hell worse than the actual hell. His throat closes up though, and his eyes widen as the figure grins at him, snaps his fingers again to cast them both back into shadow. Within moments he is back to his reality, hoodie damp with sweat, Sam turned towards him, eyes open, eyebrows knit in concern. He sits up, puts his head in his hands and hears his brother sit up as well. 

“Dean? What’s wrong?”

_Loki…_

_Goddamn fucking Loki._

 

They’re on a hunt the next day, Sam seems to think it’ll do them both some good, but he really just means the Winchester brother who can’t seem to ever keep it together. Dean could barely keep down breakfast after last night, was hardly able to avoid Sam’s worried stares and questions. And then Sam practically kicked him out the door after doing some research. Back in his baby, Dean sort of felt complete again. That is, if his mind didn’t force him to see and hear Loki over and over like some nightmare tape loop of what went on yesterday. 

His grin was everywhere, showed through the windshield, hovering over the trees and up in the sky every time he looked out the window at his place in the passenger seat. There was no escape, and maybe that was how Loki wanted it, wanted his human to see him, supposedly want him every second from now on. 

Sam had no clue, Dean never wanted him to have a clue. How could he tell him anyway? Say, ‘oh by the way, Loki’s alive and kicking. And did I mention, he wants me, in a really fucked up way. Life’s great ain’t it?’ 

He wanted him to know though, and he wanted Sam to know without telling him. Wanted his brother to see him with his own eyes and swear to do everything to protect Dean, even if the chances of that weren’t very likely. 

More than anything he wanted Loki to go away. To not come again someday. What was so enticing about Dean Winchester? Why couldn’t the killing and other past events have been enough?

He wasn’t supposed to know about that, but Sam told him a little while back. The whole Mystery Spot incident that nearly tore Sam to shreds inside. Dean found himself thinking about it a lot, trying to experience what Sam must have felt, to think about all these different ways he could have been killed. Sam didn’t go into depth at all, only told him it had been done millions of times, millions of Tuesdays (he thinks it was that day). And he’s never asked Sam about it again, that sort of thing he knows is too painful to face more than once. 

When they reach their destination, it’s odd and a major relief to admit that he doesn’t see Loki anymore, doesn’t feel him. He gets out of the Impala and feels more focused than ever before. He can do this, hunt with Sam, like he hasn’t done for a few months at best. He can kill this werewolf, is able to come back from the hunt unscathed. 

All he has to do is keep his head in the game and hope he doesn’t see Loki again to distract him. 

They make their way slowly through the forest, the night already darkening and the limbs of the elm trees casting shadows on their determined faces. Their pistols are packed to the brim with silver bullets and they sneak like shadows, the word makes the eldest shiver, deep into the depths of the woods. The trees surround them, almost like monsters themselves. They swallow hard simultaneously and look over at each other, unsure how they should go about this. They know the beast lurks deep inside, but having no plan it’s all on a whim from here on out. 

Dean is scared but at least he is peacefully alone, besides Sammy of course. 

They hear noises and hide behind different trees, guns at the ready and minds in full combat mode. A branch snaps behind Dean and he closes his eyes, throws the safety off his beloved silver pistol and takes a step to the side. As he turns around, pointing his only weapon straight at the monster behind him, he finds that he pulls the trigger too late. And soon he is flying, Sam screaming his name in the background, growing increasingly dimmer as he flies throughout the forest, slamming into a tree and dropping to the ground like lead. 

The last thing he hears before his sight fades completely, like morning dew eradicated by an early morning sun, is his brother screaming. 

 

He drifts in and out for a while, knows he’s still in the woods but that’s about it. Someone hovers over him, someone whose fingers brush over him gently, so gently he feels something must be wrong with him. 

He doesn’t feel much, sweaty and sticky when his senses come back to him every few seconds, only to drift away again so as not to agonize him further. He knows there’s blood, possibly quite a lot of it, which would explain the grace at which the blurred beyond belief figure exerts on him. 

He knows he’s on the ground, cold cold cold. And every time he closes his eyes there’s a dull ache someplace on his head. It’s growing stronger, and Dean certainly isn’t ready to feel any pain yet. If he weren’t numb now, he has no doubt he would be feeling a hell of a lot of brain frying, ‘pray for death’ pain. Dean Winchester can cope with pain, but he doesn’t know about this. 

About the billionth time he climbs his way up the ladder directed towards consciousness, he hears someone speak to him, the same person whose fingers hover over his face and curl up lightly in his hair. The voice is a little panicky, and it most certainly is not Sam’s. 

“Dean.”

It’s that voice from his dream again. 

_Can’t be._

“Dean, stay with me. Your brother needs you.”

It does sound a lot like him, but he’s too tired to care, too tired to fight against it. 

“Dean!” It’s Sam now, and how beautiful he truly sounds, too beautiful to disobey by falling asleep. 

But his body screams at him again, convinces him bliss is waiting for him. The one place he needs to be. And he accepts wholeheartedly. 

 

He wakes up three days later. At least, that’s what Sam tells him, even though it feels more like three weeks. His eyes are crusty and his body and hair feels grimy, covered in cooled sweat and it’s so disgusting he wants to puke. 

Sam has his hand in his and squeezes it reassuringly as Dean fights to gain control of his surroundings. He’s a little dizzy and a lot achy. He’s afraid to move, but Winchester stubbornness is legendary. That’s not to say when he does, that he doesn’t nearly black out again from the pain both in his head and chest. It threatens to burn him away into nothing. 

His brother leans forward in the chair at his bedside and grimaces, “Lie back down, Dean. You’re still healing.”

He’s so sick of him telling him what to do, “I am fine. Now let go of me and let me take a shower.”

Before Sam can protest, he only gets so far as to open his mouth, Dean pulls his hand out of Sam’s grip and crawls quickly out of bed, not giving his body a chance to protest. He stands in the middle of the room a minute later, not entirely sure he did the right thing. And with Sam hovering inches away, it’s just another reason why he simply cannot let himself collapse. Even if that is what he really wants to do. 

He doesn’t think he can make it to the bathroom, let alone stand up and effectively clean himself in the cramped shower, so he stands there, deciding he might as well get some answers, considering he hasn’t been getting enough of them lately. 

“What happened, Sam? I feel like I’ve been run over by a train.”

“More like a werewolf. That thing was strong, threw you halfway across the forest before your body impacted into a tree. I wasn’t even close enough to reach you.”

Dean’s frustrated, he doesn’t remember a goddamn thing, “What about after that?”

Sam shakes his head and smiles a little, causing Dean to look at him closer as he wonders why something this misplaced is happening. 

“You’re not gonna believe it.”

“Try me.”

“Someone saved me while you were down for the count. I thought I was a goner, the werewolf was coming towards me like a bullet and I couldn’t even get my gun ready in time before it flew at me. And then it just… I don’t know, crashed to the ground and I looked up to find him there, standing over it, smiling.” 

“Who?”

“Gabriel.”

_Gabri…?_

Dean’s whole world freezes. He feels numb again, and his hearing and sight fades in and out. Sam continues talking but he only hears bits and pieces of what he’s saying. When he comes back seconds later, he’s on the verge of losing it. 

“…I mean, I didn’t know what the hell was going on. One second I thought I was dead and the next he was there. He helped me and I thought about killing him, but he had just saved my life. He headed over towards you, said he wanted to make sure you were okay. And I followed as soon as I could process what was going on. And then you… oh my god, Dean. You looked so terrible and Gabriel was trying to keep you awake and he didn’t know what to do and I was panicking and then…”

“You’re lying.”

Sam breaks out of his thoughts and looks up, “What?”

“There’s no way, Sam. He’s dead.”

“I’m telling you, Dean. He’s alive.”

 

He would rather believe that Sam was hallucinating rather than face the possibility that Gabriel is alive and kicking, that would spell out disaster for both of them. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. And even if Gabriel is alive, he definitely would not be wasting his time saving their sorry asses. 

“Yeah right,” Dean says, more to convince himself than his brother, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Sam only continues, “It’s Gabriel, he saved you. And he saved me.”

Anything that risks its life for and saves his Sammy is worthy in his book. But Gabriel is an entirely different story. 

And as soon as the sentence is completed, as soon as his thought is finished, he shows up before their very eyes. Before his very eyes. 

“Well well well, sleeping beauty decided to finally wake up.”

_Gabriel?_

_No way, has to be Loki._

“I know what you’re thinking, Deano. And it is me, there’s no doubt about that.”

The eldest Winchester stares at Sam in disbelief, gulps heavily, and feels the cold overtake him again. 

Sam watches him, starts to sense something is wrong and hovers even nearer to Dean, anticipating the worst. 

Gabriel… it’s hard to say what Gabriel’s doing, what he feels, what he could possibly be thinking. He’s grinning at him but there’s something in his eyes, something he doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. He doesn’t know how he feels about it either. Gabriel just stands there and looks at him, as if waiting for him to speak when he can’t even get past the shock and panic running fierce in his veins. 

The archangel seems to move closer to the eldest without walking. And he thinks he almost figures out what’s inside those eyes before…

Dean faints.


	2. A Warm Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to chapter 2, thanks for reading it so far. I know it's been pretty angst ridden, but it'll soon get lighter. Even though archangels are powerful, I wanted to give Loki a dark side instead because he's a trickster, known for causing human suffering. I also wanted to make him complex, giving him a possessive side towards Dean as well, just in the form of tormenting. I consider Gabriel to be more of a guardian angel towards Dean, protective and loving, which of course throws him at odds with his second half Loki. I hope you enjoy because this chapter is very special to me, I spent a long time on it and it was amazingly terrific to write as well.  
> Song Featured: Title of the chapter is from Nine Inch Nails' "A Warm Place". If you play the song backwards you'll hear "The best thing about life is knowing you put it together." Lyrics are from a song I wrote titled "Silence You".

_~Clutch the only thing dear to me_  
Inside of me  
Is not real, cannot be real  
Let me silence you  
You’re far too real  
For this world~ 

There is a bright white light this time, tinged with gold at every edge, keeping him away from the darkness, a friend come to tell him he isn’t alone for this round. He knows without a doubt it’s Gabriel, who else could it be? And he’s not sure whether he should be so quick to accept it. But because it is so warm, so on its way to snuffing the cold inside every corner and crevice in his body, he gives in because he’s not ready to protest.

He doesn’t know why Gabriel is here, why he would bother to make Dean feel at home, cause him to feel protected and loved. And Dean does not want to admit that he wants the archangel here now more than Sam. That if he were to leave he would cry, feeling so emotional at this point, and he might even beg him to say he won’t leave. 

The light is constant and pleasantly warm, and it’s with him for so long it feels like blessed eternity. He lets himself drift, and the light convinces him to, he’s too tired, too much in pain to do much else. Sometimes he thinks he can hear Gabriel’s voice, calling out to him, though he hasn’t a clue what he’s saying, and he doesn’t want to know anyway. 

He swears he’ll throttle the person who shakes him out of this peace. 

Dean doesn’t think amidst the light, he attempts to several times only to find it painful. And whether it’s Gabriel’s doing or simply his own mind telling him no, he’s appreciative more than he wants to say that for once in his life he isn’t forced to think about pressing matters. 

Instead of hating Gabriel now he is loving him, for giving him all these things. But he knows that soon he will go back to hating him, soon he’ll go back to finding a million different ways to slay him. And it’s sort of sad in a way. 

Dean knows he shouldn’t depend on something so miniscule this much, especially considering it’s an archangel who is giving him this, who is no doubt going to want something substantial in return. He’s not being put in a good position, he knows this but he does not seem to care. The light is everything he could ever want now, almost like a piece of him. 

He guesses that what he wanted all along was peace of mind, after nearly starving himself to death and becoming fresh meat for a werewolf. Now he can finally relax. 

The light which is turning more golden by the second, much like Gabriel’s eyes the last time he got a decent look at them, speaks to his soul, tells him to rest and relax and slip away for a little while longer. There are no pressures placed on his healing body, no tension that the light cannot take away. He doesn’t think anything has ever felt this good, this perfect. 

It’s even causing him not to worry about Sam, and he always, _always_ worries about Sammy. 

There is no fight left in Dean, no urge to get out of this strange place which seems to carry him on a soft pillow of sunshine. No suspicions, no doubts, nothing at all but peace. 

He did not know Gabriel was capable of something so pure, so good as this…

“Dean.”

No. No way. He doesn’t want to wake up, he refuses to wake up. And goddamn it, if this is Gabriel he’s really not gonna live for another five minutes. He’s gone through so much in the past few months, in the last year, hell, his entire lifetime. And even if he claims that he doesn’t deserve much, of course he deserves this. He needs to sleep, needs to relax, needs for everyone to leave him alone for a few more eternities. 

The light retreats slowly, rippling around the edges of his vision before the last wave washes over him in a ray of calming white, not giving his mind a moment to panic or realize he’s frighteningly alone before his eyes snap open unwillingly. The room is dark as he glances around slowly, waiting for his vision to return. The thick burgundy shades are drawn across the windows, blocking nearly all sunlight. But still Dean can tell that’s it’s mid-afternoon, that he’s been sleeping for a while. 

He’s in a different motel, or rather hotel, than he was in the last time he was awake and coherent. It’s pretty nice, there looks to be a separate bedroom, a little kitchen, and a large room he’s resting in. He’s grateful for Sam, for not putting him in a dump, for letting him wake up someplace nice for once in his life. He won’t let himself worry about the cost, obsess over how much hustling Sam is gonna have to do. If Sam wants to do this for him, he’ll take it happily. 

His body lies in a king sized bed, smoky blue silk sheets (without even thinking he knows this is Gabriel’s touch), cherry wood headboard, and it’s placed in the middle of the room, far enough away from the windows so they don’t disturb him. A few candles are lit on the small table beside his bed, giving off the scent warm of cinnamon, another Gabriel touch probably. 

Dean tries to trace where the voice came from, who it came from specifically. Because there is no one standing near his bed, no one in the same room as him, this makes it even more frustrating. Not to mention he doesn’t really feel like being alone right now. 

He looks around a little more and sees Gabriel talking to Sam in the kitchen, who’s making something. Sam looks up and nods at something Gabriel says, and Dean wishes he could read the archangel, but it’s impossible because he’s turned completely away from him. He’s slouched against the counter top, fingering something Dean can’t see, and he has no idea why he can’t take his eyes off of him. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want him to be there, there’s just something about the archangel that’s so intriguing. It seems so strange that he’d still be hanging around, actually talking to Sam and not looking like a threat to him in the slightest. 

What the hell is going on? 

The eldest swallows hard, trying to moisten his dry throat, and breathes out slowly when he starts to feel the pain. Being away from that light is torture. 

When he opens his eyes again, they’re both staring at him, Sam for only a moment before he turns back to whatever he’s doing, and Gabriel never looking away from him. He’s not smirking, not laughing, just staring at him in such an unreadable manner, Dean wants to scream at him to say something, to do something. Then Dean blinks and he’s no longer there. 

Typical archangel behavior. 

“Hey.”

He turns towards Sam’s soft voice, tries to sit up buried deep under sheets and blankets with no success. His brother brings a tray table over and sets a glass of water and bowl of soup down on it. Dean lets him help him sit up, doesn’t have the strength or willpower to do it himself. He knows he’s weak, and he knows he’s worrying Sam but he doesn’t care. He’s tired and he wants that damn light back as well as the comfortable warmth that came with it. 

As soon as Sam positions him carefully against the headboard, arm retreating from his back then pulling the first layer of silk sheets back up over Dean, he lifts up the bowl of soup and dips a spoon in it as he holds it to Dean’s mouth. 

“It’s tomato soup with some fresh herbs in it. I made it myself," Sam smiles, “so it should be good.”

Dean feels like a little kid again, Sam ready and willing to feed him. And it’s too embarrassing, too much to handle all at once, so of course his first instinct is to shake his head, leading to Sam sighing softly in disappointment. Dean feels like he really should be happy that Sam feels there’s nothing else better to do than to take care of him. His pride overrules though. 

“Please, Dean, you’ve been out for days. You need to eat something.”

He may let Sam help him get comfortable, but feeding him is out of bounds. No matter how much he doesn’t want Sam to see his shaking hands. He knows it’s a lost cause, feeding himself, but he’s willing to starve himself till he’s able. That’s just how stubborn he is. 

Dean shakes his head again and Sam, a little angrily, though only a little because he’s trying to keep it under check, drops the spoon back into the bowl. He has to admit, the soup looks really good, and he hates himself for acting like he’s dissing Sam’s delicious soup. 

The silk is slippery beneath him, and he can already feel himself falling down slowly. He notices Sam panicking as he drops the soup back on the tray, leans nearer to Dean and wraps his arms around his frail little body, pulls him back up gently until he’s sure he won’t fall down again. Dean also notices Sam hesitate as he slowly pulls his arms away from Dean, as if he wants to keep them there, afraid his brother will slip away when he’s out of his hold. 

It’s a little awkward as Sam looks at him, as if waiting for the worst to happen. And Dean fights to break the silence. 

“I’m guessing these sheets didn’t come with the bed.”

Sam shakes his head and smiles a bit, “No, Gabriel figured you’d be more comfortable.”

“Since when does he care so much?”

His little brother shrugs, “Don’t ask me, he just seems to be really worried about you lately.”

Dean lays further back against the headboard and relaxes, feeling Sam wants to say something else.

“What happened anyway, Dean? Did Gabriel coming back really freak you out that much?”

He really doesn’t want to answer that question, “What do you think?”

“Gabriel didn’t look too surprised. He actually seemed kinda sad.”

Sam sounds a tad bit too melancholy for Dean to feel comfortable at this point. He wonders if Gabriel possibly brainwashed Sam to make him feel pity towards him or something.  
Not exactly a pleasing thought. 

“How long was he here?”

Dean already knows the answer to that, he just wants to hear it from Sam’s lips, to make his brother realize how weird this all is cause he can’t be the only one. 

“He never left. I told him he didn’t have to stay, but honestly I was relieved.”

Sam’s look or tone of voice doesn’t reveal that anything’s off. And Dean wants to shake him and demand why he’s so eager to accept Gabriel. It can’t all be for saving the both of them. There has to be a more decent explanation. Though knowing Sam’s past with not human creatures, primarily demons, specifically Ruby, maybe it really isn’t too much of a shock for him to be so willing to trust Gabriel. 

Dean sighs, “I was out for a while wasn’t I?”

Sam nods sadly and turns away, back towards the soup. 

His head moves again within a flash and soon he is looking back into his eyes, holding a hand out so as to stroke his forehead, “You scared the crap out of me, Dean. If Gabriel hadn’t been here, telling me you would be okay, I don’t know what I would have done.”

Dean can’t help but feel bad, he never intends to make Sam worry about him so much. As a matter of fact, his little brother has been worrying about him a lot lately. 

Sam’s fingers brushing across his forehead, through his hair, calm him down and make him tired again. He feels he hasn’t slept for any amount of time at all, and he feels like he hasn’t eaten for weeks. He’s starving and cold, and he knows Sam can tell by the very apologetic look on his face and in his eyes. 

“You’re gonna be fine, Dean. I promise. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

Clearly, Sam thinks he needs to say that, which just proves how weak and desperate Dean truly looks. He’s glad Gabriel isn’t here, an archangel seeing him vulnerable leaves too much room for being taken advantage of. Though somehow, hearing Sam talk about him makes him realize that maybe, just maybe, Gabriel is a different archangel than he remembers. If he hasn’t killed him or Sammy yet, maybe they’ll all be okay. It’s a pleasing thought but also a scary one. 

“Did you say my name before?”

Sam looks confused, “What? Your name? No, I don’t think so.”

Dean nods, hearing the voice inside his head again and realizing it did belong to Gabriel. This just keeps on getting weirder and weirder, and Dean’s actually not too sure if he minds too much. Because honestly? 

These silk sheets feel like heaven on his aching body. 

 

The light is back again, rippling around him this time so there’s no possible way he could feel more relaxed. The blinding white hue that was more than noticeable earlier has been toned down now, so it’s a pale light rimmed with millions of specks of gold if he looks close enough. He smiles as it washes over him in waves, as clean and as soft as the ocean. It feels like the silk adorning his bed, only that he doesn’t feel like he’s slipping. 

He is at peace and he knows that Gabriel is back, is practically begging him now not to take the light away. He needs it, craves it. It’s the only thing that doesn’t make him feel like shit. Waking up right now, bring ripped away once more from this light, would be disastrous for him. And he hopes Gabriel can hear him so that he knows that. 

The second he feels the bed beneath him, around him, the warm sheets blanketing his body, he knows it’s over. And he wants to scream. 

Dean looks up blearily at a figure that mysteriously looks like Gabriel, and without a doubt he knows it is. He stares up at him, wondering what he wants, why he’s so close, and he starts to think about the light again, that maybe Gabriel’s close proximity has something to do with how good it feels. That this time was definitely better than the last and that could be because the archangel is only about a foot away. 

He works on getting his eyes fully open, in order to get his sight cleared so he can read Gabriel, which he hasn’t been able to do since he came back. His poker face is legendary, and Dean’s more than determined to crack it. He licks his cracked lips and winces, feels the silk hugging his body and his heartbeat slow from its steady racing.

“Hey, Dean.”

He clears his throat and it hurts, closes his eyes to wait for the pain to pass, “Hey.”

Dean feels the bed dip next to him, and soon Gabriel is taking up the left side, not laying down but sitting up, his arm lightly brushing against Dean’s. Dean is still lying in the middle, that’s how freaking huge the bed is. He’s engulfed by pillows and warmth and soon Gabriel, who soon gives up shyness for the chance to get even closer to Dean. It would be a little weird if only the archangel didn’t feel so… peaceful beside him. Towards him. 

“You should eat something.”

Dean follows him with his eyes, watching his hands carefully pick up the bowl of soup from the table and slowly place it on his lap. 

The elder Winchester shakes his head fiercely, despite his stomach’s ravenous growls, which he is aware Gabriel can hear. Maybe he’ll let Sam feed him now, but not an archangel. Not this archangel. This is already starting to become a nightmare. He doesn’t deserve for life to keep putting him in these freakishly awkward situations. 

He doesn’t know whether Gabriel can read his mind or not, “Sam’s not here right now. He’s gone to get you some better food. You’ve been out for a few.”

Dean focuses on breathing, on what he knows is going to happen next whether he likes it or not. Gabriel won’t give him a choice and even if he does, the alternative will be as undesirable as the first. 

“Why are you here?” His voice comes out as a croak, and he’s shocked Gabriel can still make it out. 

But that is what he’s dying to know. 

“Just want to make sure you’re okay," he says innocently, looking down at the soup as if he’s embarrassed about something, which is simply a ridiculous thought to the hunter he seems so concerned over. 

It doesn’t sound fake though, his reason that is. The tone is as soft as Sam’s was earlier, and it washes over him steadily. There’s no underlying hint of deception or humor or plans for the Winchester brother in the nearby future. Gabriel is being sweet and Gabriel is being gentle, and for once in his life, he’ll take it for what it is. 

“I know you don’t want me to force you. But I will if need be. I’m sure you’re aware of the effects of starvation and dehydration, and you’re well on your way there already.”

Dean nods slowly, giving his consent hesitantly. There’s no way out of this one. 

Gabriel appears to know how hard this is for him, “Just lay back, close your eyes and relax.”

He wraps his strong arms securely around Dean and hauls him up, allowing him to get his bearings before proceeding. The first spoonful is small, but still surprisingly hard for him to swallow, as good as it tastes. Gabriel waits patiently, filling up the spoon again while he’s awaiting Dean’s nod to continue. 

When they’re halfway through the bowl, which to Dean actually doesn’t take that long, Gabriel pulls it away as Dean swallows the last morsel. 

“That’s enough. Don’t want you getting sick on me.”

He doesn’t mind, he feels a hell of a lot better now that he has some food in his stomach. He suspects that this is Sam’s so called ‘delicious soup’, and so far it’s working wonders on his stomach and nerves. 

Dean must space out for a few minutes because the next time he looks up, the archangel has disappeared. 

“Gabriel?”

A flash of skin and he’s hovering above him again, Gabriel pushing him back down steadily which confirms that he sat up in panic without realizing it. He doesn’t want the archangel to know that he wants him to stay, but it’s too late now. And he doesn’t think he can appear any more vulnerable than he has in the past five minutes. But at least he feels safe and warm, and he realizes that he hasn’t felt pain for the last few minutes, which he knows means the archangel made it vanish. 

“Calm down. I’m not going anywhere.”

He gives Dean a sip of water and lays him back down, pulls the silk back over him and then sits back in a chair only inches away. Dean watches him with half-lidded eyes, raises his eyebrows after seeing him pull a book out of nowhere and pop it open halfway to read. 

Gabriel looks up, “What? You thought I couldn’t read?”

Dean doesn’t say anything, smiles lightly and lets the sight of Gabriel reading melt his body and mind back into sleep. 

Only a few seconds before he’s gone off into the light, does he realize that the archangel is actually reading to him. 

 

He keeps on surfacing back up to consciousness and he doesn’t know why. He flips over, thinking it’s just his back bothering him or something. He ends up waiting five minutes for the hope of sleep taking him, and when the light is nowhere to be seen he settles on his stomach. Then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, he starts getting stomach cramps so there’s no way he can lie like that. He flips over on his back again, breathing hard and hoping sleep will come this time. 

Gabriel watches him, much to Dean’s obliviousness. His restlessness amuses him, watching him push back the covers only to struggle to pull them up again moments later. He wonders why he can’t see the light yet, why he’s not able to grasp onto it. Gabriel takes hold of his grace and gingerly pushes it toward Dean, but he can’t see it, can’t feel it anymore and it almost makes him sad. 

He has an urge, to pull his chair closer, to pull the silk sheets up to his neck because he knows he’s cold, cold but doesn’t want to admit it. Dean will sense him though and he will criticize himself for acting this weird, for doing something he doesn’t do. 

For caring this much. 

It’s almost like there’s an invisible rope, pulling him closer to Dean and he’s not sure what sort of reaction he should have to that. The pressure welling up within his chest right now as he lays his eyes upon the Winchester is more than weird. It’s growing unbearable in his craving to do more than he already is. 

He doesn’t hate Dean, he almost feels… protective in a sense towards him. 

Ever since his resurrection he’s been feeling off. He doesn’t feel like the same person, has no grudges or misconceptions towards the Winchesters. He has no need for trickery and sabotage to sustain him, needs not deny himself or lie or cheat or steal. He knows he’s Gabriel but is he really? Why can’t he feel what he should be feeling? Leave when he knows he should leave? Disregard Dean like he knows he should be? There’s no easy explanation, in fact, there’s no explanation at all. 

He remembers what Dean gave to him, death and life, a reason to fight and delving deeper into that, someone to fight for. He remembers he died for Dean, in order to protect Dean because of what he said to him. The human gave so much more back to him than he took, made him face himself, those deep dark places from the past he scarce ventured to. And maybe that’s why his grace is pushing his entire being towards the Winchester. 

Maybe that little realization is the reason why he’s sitting so near to him now, making sure he’ll be okay and sleep peacefully. 

Because Dean is not doing good right now, is not doing good at all. 

The not eating and not sleeping, even though his brother finally opened up his eyes and started getting him back on the right track, has still taken its toll on the eldest. Gabriel wanted to appear to him at so many times, to help out, but he knew they all had to meet at exactly the right moment, and even though it was exactly the wrong moment he’s still glad he waited, waited until a time where Dean was extremely vulnerable and accepted his help, didn’t think about his being there randomly so much. 

In a moment of quick decision, leaving no room for unnecessary hesitation, he lets his grace ebb through his arm in a steady rush, into his fingers. 

And as he leans forward to brush them against the human’s forehead, to send him into a definite and blissful sleep, as he whispers, “Sleep, Dean," he knows what his grace longs for. What his whole existence is now. 

_Look after Dean. Protect him because no one else has the strength to._

The archangel sighs softly, curls back up on the chair with his book, zooming in on the last line of the page. 

_It’s our hearts that guide us. They tell us what’s wrong. What we need something more of. You’ll know it when you feel something’s off. Know it for what it truly is._

Maybe that’s all him and Dean really need, someone to watch over them when they have no one else to turn to…

“Sweet dreams, Dean.”

…And nothing more to say. 

 

Gabriel isn’t there when he wakes up the following morning, but Sam is and in a way that’s all he really needs. They’re pretty much back to normal, talking again, and Sam seems a little less scared around him now that’s it’s proven he’ll be okay, still healing but not broken anymore. Dean wants to ask Sam about Gabriel, about what the archangel told him the day he woke up. He suspects his brother knows more than he’s letting on, and he realizes he won’t take being kept in the dark forever. 

The worst of the pain is gone by the afternoon, Gabriel’s absence has caused him to feel a little, but not enough for either Sam or him to get alarmed over. The light has left his body completely since the dawn, and he misses it, but he won’t admit that to anyone, not even Sam. 

Four days go by until he finally draws up the nerve, as Sam is on his laptop researching their next hunt, to ask about what the hell is going on. 

“Heard from him lately?”

“Who?”

“You know who, Sam.”

Just because Sam is talking to him about everything else, keeping nothing from him but this, doesn’t mean he’s willing to let it slide. As far as he knows, Gabriel is the biggest issue in his life right now. And as far as he can see, he’s saved their lives, looked after him until he was relatively better, and then skulked off without another word. Dean Winchester hasn’t liked him from the start for this reason, his trickery, his deception, the feeling that something’s up and he’ll be back whenever he needs something from them.  
Considering what an archangel could want from a human is hard to contemplate, it’ll probably end up being something that gets him killed. 

“I haven’t seen or heard from Gabriel since the night he left.”

“The night I was asleep? What did he say to you?”

“Nothing, Dean.”

He looks like he couldn’t possibly understand why he’s even asking. And his words sound innocent but Dean knows there’s something more beneath them. He wants to know, wants to know right now what he’s been saying to Gabriel, and what Gabriel has been saying to him. 

“What’s the big secret, Sam? Huh?”

“Dean, will you stop?”

“I want to know why you don’t think it’s weird that he’s here.”

“Of course I think it’s weird, Dean!” Sam’s assurances are far from convincing, and they do nothing to quell the torment, the restlessness inside him. 

He’ll never admit it but he misses Gabriel, feels safer when he’s around and paying attention to him. Because of course there’s no better force to look after him, to protect him, to save him from all the pain out there than an archangel, except maybe Sammy of course. 

This doesn’t mean anything though, he just doesn’t hate him anymore. Can’t find any decent enough reasons to hate him. 

“I want to know if he’s gonna be back.”

“Why does it matter?”

“Cause, Sam, he shows up alive, he disappears, he does this spur of the moment and not knowing what the hell is going on is really starting to freak me out!”

That silences Sam, completely, until his mouth is hanging open in shock and Dean drops down into a chair, exhausted and wanting Gabriel to show up so as to end this entire conversation. 

“I don’t know what his agenda is," Dean looks up in interest, “if that’s what you want to know.”

Sam closes the lid on his laptop, looks across the room at his brother as if he really wants him to understand this, understand what he’s going to say next. 

“But I do know that he cares now, for some reason I don’t know. He cares about what happens to us.”

_He cares about what happens to me…_

“He said he’d be back soon, whatever that means. But that’s what he told me.”

Dean shakes his head softly, feeling and hearing in Sam’s words that something’s not being said, “You’re not telling me something, Sam.”

“Oh well, figure it out yourself. When he’s back.”

His little brother retreats into the bathroom and he can hear the shower running seconds later. Dean sits there for a few moments, staring off into space, thinking about what this could mean for the both of them. For him. 

And he comes to the conclusion that he really doesn’t want to know. 

 

This is the first night the Shadowman has entered his dreams since the werewolf attack in the woods. 

He’s back in hell for only a few minutes before he takes him. And he knows he should really call him Loki now, but he still can’t help but call him the Shadowman. His face is hidden from him like it once was, and he doesn’t get it this time because he’s seen his face already. So why doesn’t he show it? Dean is sick of these shadows, sick of seeing him hide in them. There’s no peace for him here anymore, no reason for him to sit back and accept this as only an escape from hell. 

He’s not Gabriel, he needs to realize this. But with the same body, with features the same and eyes very nearly a duplicate, he can’t help but see the haunting resemblance. Can’t help but think that maybe this is really Gabriel.

“Thought I was gone forever?” It’s an eerie whisper, something that should scare the shit out of him but honestly doesn’t. 

He’s done being scared for just a bullshit reason. 

“What do you want from me?”

Dean feels bold today, easy to anger and frustrate and it’s so hard for him to back down here, in this moment. 

“Everything, Dean. All of you. Someday you will be mine to do with as I will. My pretty little pet.”

“Fuck you.”

The shadows move as quick as lightning, flashing with the faintest glimmer of a pale light, something he holds onto as a remembrance of something he’s wanted for days. There is nothing worth remembering about this moment though. Soon he can feel the wretched creature’s breath on his neck, hand just about getting ready to curl around his throat.  
Dean takes a step back, hoping in vain he’ll be left alone, to get away. Loki follows him though, grabbing his throat this time and growling at him lowly.

The human can see the hunger in his eyes, and if nothing terrified him before, this does. He dreads to think the hunger might be for him and him alone. 

“You will obey, human. Or you will suffer.”

Gabriel’s voice is meant to be a warning. He doesn’t take it as one. 

Dean spits in his face and looks him straight in the eye, “I am not your pet.”

He feels a pressure rise up within his chest, strangling him and making him want to scream. But Dean Winchester doesn’t give into dicks. Hell, Dean Winchester doesn’t give in period. 

The pressure rises and it feels like there’s a knife in his gut, twisting round and round over and over in a jerking motion that seems to be going away one second and coming back the next. Loki grins and Dean closes his eyes, waiting for the pain to pass when he’s positive it’s not going to. Unless he agrees to Loki’s demands, to being his little toy, he has this and only this to look forward to. It’s not a very bright future, and if only Sam knew what was really going on inside his head. 

Then the pain stops, and he opens his eyes again to see Loki retreat back into the shadows. He wipes blood from his mouth as he watches him with wide and surprised eyes. 

“The time will come soon. It’ll be easier if you look forward to it.”

He sits up in bed and gasps, eyes slowly moving to the other bed, where Sam is sitting at the end watching him carefully. This is when he realizes he’s been keeping his brother in the dark as well, about the nightmares that may actually not be nightmares at all, but real. 

The both of them are keeping secrets, and in a way, that’s how it’s always been. 

Sam really looks like he’s about to demand what’s going on, but something holds him back and this gives Dean the final push towards bringing his heartbeat down to an average level. 

“Why are you bleeding?”

His hand instantly wipes away the sticky red moisture from his lips, something he thought, hoped wasn’t as real as it felt. 

He’s back to normal now, sort of, and he instantly puts his barriers back up, unwilling to let Sam enter. So he’ll just say the first thing in his head that he comes up with. 

“Dunno," he notices Sam’s concerned gaze, “just some freak occurrence or something, Sammy. Don’t worry about it.”

Luckily for him, his brother nods and turns back to his own problems, primarily getting up and making them breakfast. Dean hopes there’s bacon involved, even though that’s the last thing he should be thinking about right now. 

He’s completely at a loss, unsure of where to turn when it comes to the problem of Loki, to the frighteningly close future of being claimed by him. He knows he needs to tell Sam, the awareness of this is killing him. Because he knows they’re stronger together, and he knows that something very very bad is going to happen soon, and Sam, being his brother, will most likely end up in the middle of the scuffle. Okay, huge understatement. 

More like caught in the middle of the apocalypse like crossfire. Not that they haven’t been there before. But still, definitely not on his to do list. 

With a dread unsurpassed at any other moment in his life, Dean Winchester knows this will be the fight of his life. And Sam, hopefully, will not let his big brother get taken by an unstoppable scary monster. He can only hope Loki will forget all about him, which is not very likely at all. 

He’s doomed. 

Sam’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts, makes him realize just how lucky he is to have someone who will be there with him every step of the way. Who will do everything it takes to protect him. And that’s what scares him the most, the thought that Sam won’t let him go down alone. 

If they’re lucky they’ll die side by side. Together. 

But of course he’s jumping to conclusions. 

“You know we’re talking again right, Dean? And you know that you can tell me stuff," Sam shrugs, “if you want to?”

He wants to tell him, needs to tell him, knows it should be his next move on the fucked up chessboard he’s landed on. And he thinks about this for a split second, tries to form the complex words this is going to take. He plays it all out in his head, to see how it’ll all go down. And he comes to the conclusion that he already knew he was going to come to, that he’s not ready for this. 

“I’m gonna go take a shower.”

Cause there’s no way in hell he’s gonna face this now, especially on an empty stomach. 

 

Luckily, Gabriel decides to grace them with his presence not long after. Unfortunately, it’s when he’s taking a much needed cat nap an hour after breakfast. 

Dean stirs at the sound of voices coming from the small living room attached to his bedroom. The voices are low, little more than whispers, but he can still hear them. And at first he is annoyed as hell, until he realizes the second voice is Gabriel’s. 

Look who finally decided to show up. 

He is pissed that Sam hasn’t woken him yet, and he can only hope that the two haven’t been talking for long. Cause he needs to know what’s going on. He’s sick of all these secrets, and he feels in his gut that something is happening behind his back. He can’t be treated like a child anymore, can’t have Gabriel and Sam shut him out of everything. This needs to stop and it needs to stop now. 

Dean gets up slowly, untwisting the blankets from his slightly chilled body, pushing himself off the bed quickly but wanting to be quiet about it. His feet barely make a sound as he tiptoes across the carpet, heading for the slightly ajar door, where the voices are coming directly from the other side. The carpet is soft and warm under his feet, senses are on high alert as he places a hand on the door and listens carefully. If he’s lucky maybe he can catch a few words. 

He’s heard his name, more than once, but other than that he hasn’t gotten much. And he’s not too happy about it. After about a minute of standing at the door, listening to their barely audible voices, he decides he’s tired of eavesdropping and would be much happier as an active part of the secret conversation. 

And yes, he is planning on being a part of it. 

He pushes the door open gradually, finally seeing them perfectly since he’s woken. They are standing so near to each other it’s almost creepy, and they continue to talk in hushed voices. Gabriel looks frantic, rushed and panicky, his golden hair slightly disheveled. Sam on the other hand, looks calm, collected and contemplative, his hair confidently brushed off his forehead and his arms crossed in seriousness. 

It’s a weird thing to see. 

Dean stands there, in his measly t-shirt, faded gray sweatpants and warm socks. He can hear them much better now, and he has no interest whatsoever in making his presence known, even though it won’t take too long. Considering they haven’t seen him yet means they’re deep in conversation, and it’s something important, serious, something Dean more than anything wants to know. And soon he will. 

Gabriel is the first to turn to him. Dean’s feet stay planted in the exact same spot, staring into his eyes even though that’s always asking for trouble. Once again, as with the first time he woke up from his long slumber, he notices that the archangel doesn’t seem to be a threat, and since he’s here, clearly hasn’t hurt Sam, has taken care of him, he’ll let his presence and discussion with his brother slide. But Gabriel will tell him, there’s no doubt about that. 

Strangely, Gabriel is also the first to look away, leaving Dean to continue staring at him, quite surprised that an archangel would dare take his eyes off him in what almost looks like shame. It’s really fucked up to see something like that written on his face. Maybe from Sam but not from Gabriel the almighty ‘I could care less’ archangel. Never from Gabriel. 

Sam looks at him next, and that’s when he goes into full on rage mode. 

“What, you thought you wouldn’t wake me up?”

Sam sighs loudly and rubs a hand over his face, pushing hair off his forehead, looking at Gabriel as if expecting him to help.

Dean does the same, his words directed harshly at Gabriel, “And what about you? What’s the little game you’re playing this time? Want us to crawl back to hell and find your little wings so you can snap them back on and fly away so you can leave us the hell alone?”

Gabriel winces, barely successful in hiding the hurt in his eyes, but Dean doesn’t need to see it, he already knows it’s there. He feels bad honestly, he’d be an asshole if he didn’t. But he doesn’t have the time to worry about this bullshit right now. Gabriel is acting more than just a little off and he needs to get to the bottom of it before it spells out trouble for him or Sam. 

Sam starts up, “Chill, man.”

Ouch, now he’s let Gabriel know that he’s noticed he’s wingless and all. He didn’t notice it early on, just remembered he hasn’t yet heard a rush of feathers such as with a long gone Castiel like he normally would. But wait a minute, nothing about Gabriel being here is normal in the slightest. 

He doesn’t exactly know when he finally found out, he supposes it was just a gut feeling that the archangel doesn’t have his precious wings anymore. He’s still an archangel, as far as Dean knows, just doesn’t carry his most prized possession. Dean’s been left wondering why all this time, has wondered for just a brief moment whether Sam notices. But it’s not like Gabriel’s gonna tell him that. He’s not even gonna hope on it. 

“Chill? You’re telling me to chill, when you two are forming your little circle and plotting against me in secret? I don’t think so.”

Sam looks like he’s about ready to walk away, knowing his brother well enough that he’s not gonna just let this slide, not when he’s this pissed. He’s right too.

His little brother looks at Gabriel and Dean is about ready to growl at how close they seem. How many words have they shared? How many secrets are really between them? It’s sickening, it really is, to see them both like this, to see all of Sam’s resolve to answer his demanding questions gone. It’s agonizing to see the only reason why his brother stays in the room, because of him, because of Gabriel. Like he doesn’t want the archangel to handle this alone or something. 

And this is just getting so wrong that the eldest can barely breathe, let alone continue on. 

“Dean, it’s not like that.”

“Of course it isn’t, Sam.”

“I’m serious.”

“Me too. Now why don’t you tell me what it really is about?”

Sam glares at him a little, warning him to back down, that he doesn’t need to know. Dean doesn’t take the hint, he’s come too goddamn far now. 

“You should, Sam.”

His wary voice breaks Dean out of his ferocious reverie, away from his argument completely with Sam. Because Gabriel is a part of this too, and he’s the one offering. 

It’s an understatement to say that Gabriel’s… everything about Gabriel is off. He looks a little scared, a bit shaken, like he’s been hanging off a cliff edge for the last few days. And maybe he has, cause when Dean sees him stare at Sam with uncertain eyes, when it should certainly be the other way around, Dean can’t help but think that something very bad is taking place. Gabriel looks at Dean as if begging him to read his mind or something, to not hold anything against him. And this is what causes him to stare, so very fully, into his eyes, wishing he could read his mind. 

What is with Gabriel lately? It’s more than a nightmarish mystery. To Dean’s eyes, it’s a fucking shame the archangel isn’t more of a dick. Isn’t that how he’s supposed to be, not treating Dean with such planned out care that it’s downright creepy? It’s not the act itself that’s creepy, his presence and his being alive is sustaining and a warm comfort. It’s the fact that he knows, that he’s sure his brother knows, that this isn’t Gabriel. 

This isn’t even the slightest bit Gabriel. 

“You think it’s time?”

Dean turns to Sam in new found anger after his shock at hearing the archangel, “Time? What the fuck are you guys talking about?”

“Dean…”

“Tell me! Right now.”

His patience is gone… completely. 

Sam looks to Gabriel, expecting him to tell all, and the archangel looks back, clearly unsure of who should make the next move. Dean stands there among the two, impatient beyond belief and at the breaking point. He has no idea who exactly will be in his line of fire next. 

“If one of you guys doesn’t tell me, I swear on whatever’s holier than Gabriel that I will kick both of your asses and send them down to the pit myself.”

Gabriel looks down at the floor and then turns his eyes to focus back on Dean. As their eyes meet Dean feels something, he doesn’t know what it is, just that it feels like… home.  
Almost. 

Forget it, he’s clearly out of his head today. 

He doesn’t look away as Gabriel’s mouth opens and he speaks, directly to Dean.

“There’s a new threat in heaven. Lucifer is on the rise in Michael’s absence, and his intentions, as the rumors go, are to create a new heaven, a new breed of angels. A new threat to humankind. 

“Someone broke him out?”

Gabriel nods and Dean continues, his voice shaking a little this time, “Who?”

The archangel looks back to Sam, responds to his nod and then stares deep into Dean’s eyes once more. It’s haunting… it’s creepy… it’s… sort of beautiful. 

Dean has reason to believe someone has slipped him a drug, because he doesn’t think these thoughts, doesn’t ever feel this way. 

He’s conflicted. More than that he’s…

Totally Fucking Freaking Out. 

And Dean Winchester wonders if Gabriel feels it too.


	3. In the House of Flies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it’s already chapter 3? Amazing. I hope you’re liking it so far, and sorry if it’s a little slow. Though it’s about to get a lot more intense and even more emotional. I wanted to write a Dabriel epic and I guess this is my first attempt. I’m working really hard to stay true to the characters, and I’m also trying not to rush things too much because I want the emotions and actions to seem real. I’m also being very careful when I’m choosing the songs, wanting them to fit the mood of the chapter and I just thought that this one fit Gabriel so much. That being said, I hope you enjoy the chapters to come and have fun reading this one.   
> Song Featured: Title and lyrics of the chapter come from Deftones’ “Change (In the House of Flies)”. The regular version of the song is perfect, but listen to the acoustic because it is gorgeous.

_~ I watched a change in you_  
It’s like you never   
Had wings  
Now you feel so alive  
I’ve watched you change~ 

Gabriel stands before him, and it may just be the strangest sight Dean Winchester has ever seen. There is nothing normal about this, nothing of what he’s talking about that isn’t making him panic. Because of course Gabriel has to be here when the world is about to end again, he can’t just be here for the heck of it. There always has to be a reason.

But that’s what Dean’s life is, episode after episode of on the brink of death moments, stopping the apocalypse again and again and yes, again. And it’s his job, he knows that, but just once in his life he’d think it’d be nice if Gabriel decided to drop by just to say hi, to not place any added stress on him and his brother. Dean thinks it would be nice just to see Gabriel alive, nothing more, nothing less. 

Gabriel is different, but he’s also aware that some things remain the same. Such as his tendency for trickery, his impulse to not say that something’s up until the very last minute, which might he add, really fucking pisses him off. And then there’s the issue of Gabriel hovering near him when he’s in a vulnerable state, like asleep or sick or just really really fucking tired and not in the mood to deal with anyone at the moment. Yes, he thanks him for feeling protected and warm, but besides that he’s starting to get really annoyed at the lack of being alone. 

So here the three of them are, in another crazy moment of their lives, and Dean is still waiting. For all the answers, for the true reason why Gabriel is here. 

“Who?” He repeats when it appears that Gabriel is not going to answer without a little more persuasion. 

“I don’t know.”

Dean stares at the both of them, waiting for Gabriel to slip away, for the faintest flicker of doubt and knowledge and lying to creep upon his face. But there is nothing to see, and unless Dean is blind there’s not much he can argue about. Except how utterly fucked up this entire situation is. 

He runs a hand through his hair, starting to pace the room, “Well, that’s fantastic. Cause it doesn’t really leave much room for acting now, does it?”

Sam shifts nervously beside him, looking at Gabriel for the thousandth time for a sign, anything. Gabriel doesn’t look back, his eyes alternate between hovering on the ground and on Dean’s restless figure. 

Dean is breaking. With all the shit that’s been going on with him lately, he so desperately needs a break, a rest, a reprieve, whatever the hell you want to call it. Gabriel looks at him deeply, expecting him to know what to do, how to stop Lucifer, what to say next, all these things Dean can’t keep track of but yet they move in restless circles around his head driving him absolutely nuts. 

He wants to say ‘Gabriel, give me a fucking break’, but instead he utters, “So what’s the next move?” 

Silence, nothing but silence. 

“Don’t you fucking tell me you came to us because you’re not man enough to solve this on your own?”

Shit, Gabriel might as well admit to it considering the response he’s been getting for the past five minutes. Sam’s no help either, might as well not be here at all. Is Dean expected to deal with everything that comes flying at him on his own? When did this happen?

“Great, just when I thought life couldn’t get any better.”

Without even looking, Dean still knows Gabriel is staring at him. And he wonders what’s so fascinating that would cause him to cease to look away. 

“What happened to Raphael?”

Gabriel turns to Sam, “There is word that Castiel drew him in. He hasn’t been seen since.”

“Cas?” Dean says with mild hope, thinking he’s as good as dead but still having the slightest hope that maybe he will come back someday. 

Gabriel shakes his head sadly, “He took Raphael down with him, Dean. Neither exists anymore.”

The head of the elder brother drops down as he fights back a tear he wants to let loose into the carpet. Gabriel is staring intently again when he looks up, his face still unreadable for the most part. And Dean knows that there is something else he deserves to know. 

Gabriel is the next to speak, luckily adding more to the conversation, “It can’t be Michael either. He remains in the cage.”

“Which makes sense," Sam adds, “whoever released Lucifer doesn’t want anyone else to interfere, and his brother no doubt would. Then again, the only likely guess would be an angel, and what angel would want Lucifer to turn heaven into a second hell?”

“Someone who’s looking to gain something by getting on the devil’s side.”

They both look up at Dean then, waiting for more. But Dean doesn’t have anything else up his sleeve for them. 

“So," Sam looks back and forth between the both of them, “what’s next?”

Gabriel shrugs, “We wait to see what happens.”

He knows something big, Dean can taste it. 

“You’re not saying something.”

For the life of him, Dean can’t figure out why he would want, why he would need to keep something from the two of them. If he’s come to them for help they need to know everything, he needs to know everything. Their lives most likely depend on it. But of course, you can’t demand anything from an archangel. Unless you want to end up as a burnt piece of toast. 

“I’ll come back when I know something," Gabriel disappears without another word, for no apparent reason, because apparently he doesn’t need a reason. 

_You’ll come back when you decide to tell us something you mean._

Dean has to fight to keep his nerves under control, Gabriel’s silence and lack of sharing information makes him want to find ways to throw him in the pit. Sam doesn’t seem to care, much, just walks into his bedroom to retreat into his laptop. Dean thinks that he’s never felt more alone, more isolated, like everyone in the world is hiding something from him and he’s not getting anywhere. 

No one wants to help him out and more and more he feels like the entire weight of the world is on his already aching shoulders. He was wrong to think Gabriel would aid him in some way, any way at all. 

He was wrong to think Gabriel would care about him. At all. 

 

Gabriel felt the searing pain threaten to obliterate his entire being from the inside out. He let loose a scream as he tumbled down, struggling to regain his balance, grab onto something, anything at all. But there was nothing, nothing to brake his fall as he fell for eternity after perpetual eternity. 

He tried to remember who had done this, what exactly had happened that led him to this, who he pissed off enough for this, this to happen. He felt it as he hit the ground, his grace struggling to piece his broken vessel back together, warning him to quickly gain another. But he couldn’t. He had grown so attached to his body he couldn’t walk the earth without it. 

The power surged away from his grace and through his limbs, sustaining him, sucking a large part of the pain away so he could easily breathe again. His vision cleared, he suddenly felt strong enough to get up, go on, figure out what the hell was going on with him and humanity. 

But without even thinking about it, he knew they were gone. His wings. His beloved wings. 

A spike of something resembling radar radiated through him, storming quickly up towards his head. He did not know who had linked him to the Winchester brothers, the eldest specifically, but he did know that he could sense them strongly now, knew where they were, what they were doing. And no matter what, they were the key to everything. Why else would his grace pull him to them? Why else would he long for nothing else but to go to them?

Gabriel brushed himself off as well as he was able and walked, finding no longer having his wings was much more than just a chore, it was brutal agonizing torture. His feet ached by the time he had found them intact, relatively unscathed and more important than all of that, safe. 

The elder’s emotions and thoughts and inner misery screamed out to him so abruptly he very nearly collapsed in shock and horror. He never experienced anything so powerful, so unrelenting, tugging on his grace with such force it was painful for him. He thought for a second that he was dying but that wasn’t the case, he was in bed, sleeping, Sam looking over at him every once in a while. 

Gabriel guessed this was when he first started to feel concern. Something he’d rarely felt before. 

And concern for a human was unnatural, unacceptable, unreal. Unbelievable. 

He contemplated leaving the brothers, finding a way to get his wings back on his own, letting them deal with their own problems like they had thousands of times before. But as soon as he thought it, took a minor step back whilst thinking it, his grace very nearly ripped him apart, warning him that this was where he needed to be. 

He vanished in the misty night, reappeared in their motel room, in the bedroom they shared. Sam was asleep now as he felt his grace tug him towards the other inhabitant. His fingers tingled, pulsated with pure energy that almost resembled raw need, and they reached towards the eldest before he realized his mistake and pulled them away, his grace letting slip a protest before quieting. 

He gasped and then checked behind him to make sure the youngest was still asleep, before turning back to Dean. He seemed to be lost in a nightmare, far from reaching the surface of consciousness, his soul begging someone, someone like him, to take the pain away. His grace longed to comfort this human, and his hand snapped forward to brush his continually pulsating fingers against his forehead. 

He saw darkness and shadows and…

_No… Not him…_

His grace cried, its holy tears rippling through his body and burning up through his throat like acid. He had to go, he couldn’t stay, he…

“Dean…”

The word bubbled up within his throat instantly as he shrank back in horror and worry. He disappeared within a moment, he couldn’t stay here, not when he couldn’t help. He couldn’t stay in the same room with someone who was killing him. 

He let out a final prayer towards the human before his grace retreated back into his body completely and he let himself fall away momentarily, into the light. 

 

“Dean? Come on, man. It’s time to wake up.”

His eyes flipped open and came across his brother, staring down at him in worry, as if something was wrong with him. 

“Hey.”

“Hey," he rasped out, rubbing his eyes and looking around the room, “something wrong?”

Sam shook his head, “No, don’t think so. Just thought I heard your name last night or something. Kinda creeped me out.”

“Ya okay?”

“Yeah," Sam nodded reassuringly, “I’m fine, don’t worry about me.”

Sam looked a little shaken up, which did nothing to calm Dean’s nerves. He wanted to push, if only just a little. His little brother looked like he was about to flip out though, and he didn’t want to be in the way when he did. This time, he decided he would have to let it go. 

“You sure?”

Sam nodded again and at his assurance, Dean nodded and crawled out of bed, slipping on some clothes before heading for the bathroom. He looked back at Sam a little worriedly before shutting the door behind him. 

He knew Sam had been having nightmares off and on, but he had been relatively dream free for the last few weeks. The eldest just had to accept the fact that last night was another nightmare, because if he even considered the possibility of having someone in their room, saying his name, he would go insane from panic and fear. 

He had heard nothing, felt nothing off. So that was what he would chuck it up to for now, another dream of Sam in the cage. 

Dean couldn’t worry about it too much, he was barely able to take care of himself, leaving Sam to do the majority of it, let alone look after his little brother constantly. He had too much on his plate now, he was the one having nightmares every single night.

Whether it was for Sam’s reassurance that his brother was okay or something else entirely, his brother was knocking on the door twenty minutes later, asking if he was okay.   
Dean tried not to get too freaked out, he might have been annoyed but he wanted to give Sammy peace of mind. If Sam was afraid of losing his older brother, Dean would do whatever he could to prove he was gonna stay, because he knew how hard his brother had had it the past few weeks, trying to get Dean back up to proper health and a decent amount of sleep. 

He didn’t want Sam to have to lose him, they’d come this far to be together and there was no way he was gonna screw it up. 

“M’ fine, Sam.”

“Okay," he could practically see his brother running a hand through his hair out of habit, “see you in a few.”

Dean let the burning water slide down his back and threaten to boil the skin on his face. The water felt so good, like it was washing all of it away, the worry, the stress, a duplicate of the panic that Sam was no doubt going through. 

The eldest came out five minutes later, not wanting to worry Sam too much. 

He was all he had left.

 

He tracks their movements as they plunge through the darkness, deeper into the woods. He can sense the danger around them, wants to involve himself, to draw them back, but by allowing the two brothers to continue on he is giving himself an open, to confront them the best way he can. He will just have to hope they won’t get themselves into too much trouble. Knowing the Winchester boys though, that’s probably too much to hope for. 

The archangel notices the werewolf instantly, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the two humans to come close enough so that he can pounce, tear them apart and feast on their flesh in an instant. No, this werewolf is fierce enough that it won’t turn them, just kill them first if they’re lucky enough. Then again, Winchesters aren’t known for their luck. 

No matter what, Gabriel is not going to let anything happen to them. They are his responsibility now, his charges. Though by following his grace, only one turns out to be his true charge. 

The eldest walks a little in front of the younger, in a protective stance, gun at the ready if anything should try to attack his little brother. Gabriel wants to scream at him to turn around and go back the way they came, or at least stop to think about how stupid this is, in the pitch black of night, the full moon not even vivid enough to pierce through the shadows and aid them on their path. 

This isn’t a good night to hunt. This isn’t a good night to hope life prevails over death. And yet he prays, gets ready to rush down there in case something should happen, when something happens. 

He might be their only hope. 

When Gabriel sees the two of them signal to each other, hiding behind separate trees, he knows it’s time. He knows all too well that if he screws up this time, he won’t get another chance. So, here it goes. 

Dean, the overprotective and self-sacrificing idiot, steps out from behind his protection, _no! goddamn it!,_ with nothing much in his hand but a gun, a stupid measly _nothing_ little gun. And it’s no shock at all when the werewolf comes forth raging, swiping the toy out of his hand with a huge meaty claw as the bang goes off and scraps the bark off a nearby tree. 

Gabriel gasps in horror, unable to do anything in time before the massive beast picks Dean up as if he were nothing more than a rock and hurls him through the forest. The archangel closes his eyes, fearing he will faint if he sees what is going to happen, happen before his very eyes, being forced to accept that it’s real. But he clenches his fists and bites his lip, forcing his eyes back open because he’s an archangel goddamn it, he was bred to kill and he’ll be damned if he lets Dean go down like this. 

He drops down onto the mixture of soft moss and grass hard, if he had his wings he wouldn’t have had to worry about a painful landing. But he doesn’t have his wings and he can’t dwell on that now. 

It takes a second for him to get his bearings, something which pisses him off even more because he feels like he’s more human than archangel, considering his utter uselessness. And when he’s done with that step, before he can even think about doing anything, he looks to the side to see the eldest crash into a tree, can pretty much hear his back break and can feel his body crumple to the ground like a rag doll’s. He almost drops to the ground when he allows himself the smallest entrance into Dean’s mind, nearly breaking in two when he experiences it, how extreme the pain is, the shock is. 

He’s ashamed to say he retreats, leaving Dean alone with his pain and misery. But this night isn’t over yet. 

Sam is screaming so loudly that he can’t hear anything else. Soon the werewolf is on him as well, but not if Gabriel can help it. He’s already let one person down and there’s not gonna be another, he thinks with certainty. 

He moves within a flash, reveling in one power he hasn’t lost, and the next second he can feel the werewolf’s throat taking up his entire hand, strangling it, squeezing the life out of it. He grins, feeling accomplished when the beast drops to the ground, dead, morphing back into a human form that he gives no attention to. There are more important things to worry about. 

The archangel stares up in relief at Sam’s unscathed form, watching him with pride and amusement as he struggles with words, stands there restlessly deciding whether to shoot Gabriel or rather hug him. Seconds later he still hasn’t made up his mind. 

“Gabe… Gabe… Gabri…”

“That’s my name, Sam. Surprised to see me?”

Sam’s mouth opens and closes in shock, unable to say his full name and having no way to comprehend what just happened. He looks at the human on the ground, eyes flung open forever unless there’s interference, body naked and pale and lifeless. He knows he should care, knows that deep down this was just an innocent human who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But he can’t. This thing, human, might have killed his brother. 

And no one gets away from that. 

“What the...," Sam’s voice breaks off and he tries again, struggling to hold onto this newfound information with amazement filling him whole, “…is it really you?”

He reaches forward hesitantly, considering whether touching Gabriel would be a good idea. Gabriel doesn’t leave much room for decision and argument though when he brushes Sam lightly, letting the idea of him being alive finally sink in and morph into reality. Sam gasps and touches Gabriel again, clearly unsatisfied with the first round. 

When he’s done, a small relieved smile creeps across his face and before Gabriel can act, say anything, tell Sam to hurry up so they can get on with life, he steps forward and hugs Gabriel, lightly. The archangel allows it, lets his hand brush lightly across Sam’s back, to tell him that he is there, alive, so much more than that. 

The hug doesn’t last too long, but it leaves Gabriel feeling different, relived and pleased and slightly happy. 

Sam stares at him, taking all of him in as he looks back, “You saved my life.”

Gabriel shrugs, “What else is new, Sam?”

And suddenly, the youngest thinks of his brother. Finally. 

“Dean?” His head whips to where Dean was thrown but can’t be seen. 

That’s how far he was flung. 

The youngest Winchester is starting to hyperventilate and the archangel can’t let that happen. Here is not the place, now is not the time. He steps forward quickly, Dean’s condition finally starting to take hold of him and making him want to rush, but he stays calm and collected, pulls himself together for Sam, whose brother may be dying and who needs him now more than anything. 

He places his hand on the human’s shoulder and makes him gaze into his eyes. Sam obeys as tears begin to well up in them. 

“He’ll be okay, Sam. I’m not gonna let anything happen to him.”

He says the words seriously, slowly, calmly making an effort to emphasize each word. He wants this to sink deeply into Sam’s head, wants him to leave Dean to him. Because if Sam starts to lose it now, he’ll never make it back to the surface of sanity again. 

The words calm him down greatly as he breathes out a particularly large breath, slightly shaky but he’s clearly out of the danger zone for crying himself to death. Gabriel stares at him for one more long moment before walking off frantically to find Dean. 

“I’m gonna make sure he’s okay," he mumbles, more to reassure himself than Sam. 

He’ll be okay. He has to be. 

 

There is nothing more agonizing than seeing a human dying. A human he likes, dying, bleeding, barely breathing but every tiny breath seeming to threaten to shatter him into a million tiny pieces. There is nothing more painful than this to Gabriel, nothing more heartbreaking. 

Because he cares about what happens to Dean. 

He really fucking cares about him. 

“Dean…”

He drops to the ground and it’s everything he can do not to pick the fragile human up in his arms and cradle him, give him dreams of peace in order to take him away from this place of pain and death. But Dean has been broken and there is a lot of blood, and not to mention a lot of cracked bones. And why would an archangel ever cradle a human?   
Where does that make sense?

All he would feel would be embarrassment towards Sam and shame towards himself. But still, Dean, who would have the most problems with it, would be out of it and not even know what was going on. That still doesn’t matter though, he makes himself believe. Dean needs to be healed, as well as he is able, before he does anything more that might put him at further risk. 

He can feel the soft brown dirt beneath his knees and Gabriel feels like he is nearly below this human, like this mortal is his superior. Honestly, Gabriel doesn’t care, he will bow down to Dean forever if it means he will stay alive, stay awake, be okay. 

The coldness seeps through his jeans, chills him to the bone as he finds himself unable to warm himself up sufficiently. His grace is holding back, grieving in its own way for this shattered human who is unable to do much but lie here and die. He can feel Dean’s pain again now and it is unbearable. But before his grace revolts against him completely, the confused and cold archangel reaches down with his hand to brush some of the droplets of blood off Dean’s pale face. 

He can feel a jolt of lightning within him as his grace cries out for more. And as soon as he obliges he cannot stop. 

Gabriel leans down further, can now hear the other human’s footsteps as he huddles against a tree not more than a few feet away, shivering, his teeth chattering within his skull, on the verge of tears once more. 

He pays no attention, for his grace is commanding him to do all these things he doesn’t understand, but things that feel right and good and should he say perfect nonetheless. 

As he washes more of the blood away, brushing the human’s spiky hair back with his tingling and eager fingers, he realizes with a sharp and awkward thought, one that radiates out from his grace and penetrates his entire being, that Dean Winchester’s face, whilst pale and cold and etched with lines of never-ending pain, is beautiful. 

Dean is beautiful in so many unexpected and once unseen ways. 

But Gabriel’s eyes are open now. 

And they plan to remain open. 

 

As Dean is fighting to stay within the realm of consciousness, Gabriel is fighting not to lose it completely. He doesn’t need to see the human’s eyes open to know that he’s awake, struggling to stay alive, fighting and fighting and fighting because Winchesters are fighters. And his brother would no doubt kill him if he wasn’t fighting.

He knows how out of it Dean is, wants him to know he’s here if nothing else, wants to tell him Sammy’s okay and he’s back and alive and waiting for him to open his eyes and realize this. It’s so hard to pull his touch away from Dean right now, so he doesn’t. It helps him to believe his fingers and grace are the only things keeping him alive and if he breaks away now, it’s over and over forever. 

“Dean?”

He licks his lips and tries not to look back at Sam, knowing his face is a mask of his sorrow and possible loss in the next few minutes. 

“Dean.”

He knows he has to keep on trying. 

“Dean, stay with me. Your brother needs you.”

_I think I might need you too._

“Dean, you have to listen to me. Please.”

He shakes his head and looks down at Dean’s chest, looks back up at his face quickly when he sees the extent of the damage, the blood, everything he doesn’t have the guts to look at. He runs his fingers through the human’s hair, latches them there to try to form some sort of connection. 

Gabriel feels so close to this human now. Closer than he’s ever felt to anyone before. 

And he knows this is something, something big and new and beautiful. 

He just doesn’t know exactly what it is yet. 

“Dean!”

Sam’s voice jolts him back just in time to see the human go unconscious. To confirm that now is the time to act, even if he has no idea what he’s doing. 

“I don’t know what to do, Dean. My grace wants to heal you but it can’t.”

He bites his bottom lip hard, feels himself really panicking now, and even though he can’t go into Sam’s mind like he can Dean’s for some strange reason, he can feel him behind him, knows he is panicking too. Knows that he will die if Dean doesn’t turn out to be okay. 

“Dean… I don’t know what to do… I…”

Then, suddenly, the raw and unstoppable power surges throughout his body, pours into his veins, settles into his fingers and accumulates in the air, immediately going into the human. It happens so fast he can’t breathe, it’s all he can do to stay aware and conscious so he can continue to pump his grace’s miraculous healing abilities into Dean Winchester’s motionless body. 

And he hopes it will be enough, that he’s not too late. 

Sam is worried, which would be refreshing for a change if he wasn’t so worried about getting Dean what he needs in time, “Gabriel?”

Gabriel breathes out deeply and his forehead hovers above Dean’s before dropping it down completely. He cradles his head and wraps an arm protectively around his chest, hidden beneath all his blood, to finish the job. 

He takes quite possibly the deepest breath he’s ever taken when it’s over. And he’s exhausted, wants to collapse into a boneless heap beside Dean’s body. He needs to stay strong for Sam though, they’re not out of the woods yet. 

It’s Sam’s words, seconds later, that make him feel infinitely better. 

Sam moves to Dean fast, drops down beside his brother’s body and soon cries out in relief, “He’s okay, Gabriel. You saved him. He’s fine.”

The youngest collapses beside Gabriel for a few moments, taking it all in, the fact that his brother is going to be okay and it’s all thanks to an archangel who’s supposed to be long dead. 

“Thanks.”

He nods, “Just do me a favor, Sam? Don’t talk for the next five minutes. That took a lot more out of me than you think it did.”

Sam laughs and playfully slaps Gabriel’s shoulder, “Do whatever you want. We’re fine now, it’s all good.”

They’ll be okay. This time.

Dean is alive and once more the world is at peace again. And if only Gabriel and Sam are feeling that then it doesn’t matter. 

Nothing else could matter. 

 

He manages to get both Sam and Dean to a motel, a far nicer one than the piece of shit they dared to call a motel before, safely and in one piece. Or rather, two pieces. And he’s happy that he can at least do that, he wishes he could do more though. It’s clear to him after they get Dean settled into a bed that Sam wants him to hang around, and Gabriel really does want to. But he can’t. There’s too much to do, too much to learn, too many things to try to figure out how to gank, as the eldest Winchester likes to say. He’s managed to save Dean and he thinks that’s a pretty damn good first thing he’s done. So why does it feel like not even close to enough?

He likes Sam, he really does. Yeah, he feels a stronger impulse towards his brother, always has, but that doesn’t go to say that there’s a lot in Sam that he admires. The kid has a lot of fight in him, a quite beautiful and not to mention very rare love for his brother, and a certain toughness that could probably not be matched by anyone other than by his deceased father or brother. So it would make sense that Gabriel wants to stay with him, to make sure he’ll be okay. He can’t afford it though, not this time. 

Gabriel knows Sam puts a high price on the life of his brother, knows perfectly well the only reason he isn’t dead under his gaze is because he saved Dean’s life, both their lives.   
And he knows that that tends to go a long way in Sam Winchester’s book. What he doesn’t understand is why he’s so awkward around him, so unsure of what to say and nearly completely dependent on Gabriel, his next words, his next move. 

The archangel hates to tell him he doesn’t really have any. 

He fights to avoid the sight of Dean after he’s placed him in bed, feels he won’t be able to leave if he sees how vulnerable and sick the human looks. But Sam directing his gaze to him every few seconds isn’t really helping any. 

“You can stay you know," Sam tries to sound nonchalant and fails miserably at it, something which Gabriel finds awkwardly cute, “if you want?”

“I’m sorry, Sam. I really can’t, have to go now.”

Sam glances over at Dean and makes sure Gabriel follows his gaze, leading him to, “Don’t worry, he’ll be fine. Not to say he won’t be in some pain when he wakes up, but it’s no longer life threatening. 

Sam nods, relaxes a little under Gabriel’s stare and slight impatience, which he doesn’t, he repeats doesn’t, want to project onto Sam, who has gone through enough tonight as it is. 

“I’ll be back, Sam.”

Sam nods again, rubs his hand alongside the back of his neck several times, wanting to say something but wanting to be careful about it. Gabriel taps his foot a teensy bit more impatiently. 

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, Sam. I’ll see you around, kay?”

Before the youngest can reply he is gone. And while Gabriel wishes he could have stayed, to watch over Dean and reassure Sam more than he had the time to do, he’s also glad that he didn’t have to stay stuck in that more than awkward situation with Sam Winchester. 

 

He doesn’t lie, he does return, to sneak into Dean Winchester’s bedroom and watch him sleep. And even before that, he was never too busy to look after him, to keep him calm and at peace and sleeping for as long as he deemed necessary so as not to feel the full extent of the pain. That’s one thing he seems to be unable to take away. 

Gabriel knows Dean’s dreaming the second before he sees it, lets his grace ebb into the sleeping human’s body to take away the dreams of hell he so often experiences. There’s no darker dreams tonight, no nightmares cast in shadows and malice, of which he is glad for because the last time he tried to take them away he couldn’t. The figure blocks him, appears to want Dean even more than he lets on. For a reason he doesn’t know yet. 

He stares down at him for the longest time, watches the pain lines evaporate from his face, his chest rise and fall in a steady and even rhythm, the paleness of his features creep away to be replaced with color, warmth, a light smile played upon his lips. He looks unreal, flawless, the perfect human. He wonders why his grace, his entire being is so strongly attracted to him. He’s never felt this sort of energy surge before, this kind of power that seems to invisibly radiate from Dean’s body and into his. It’s more than just a little weird, it’s terrifying. 

Gabriel’s hand extends out from his side, planning on stroking back the human’s hair on his forehead. But for some reason he cannot, drops it back to his side and walks away because he feels like he shouldn’t be there, creepily watching Dean sleep and thinking about touching him. Even a mere brush feels so wrong now. 

It’s like he’s become addicted to how Dean feels, his skin, his hair, just him. It’s painful to deny himself, even though he does respect Dean, his feelings and humanity. He doesn’t want to push him away, to make him feel awkward. When he wakes up he wants Dean to accept him there, no matter what. 

He’s so caught up in these thoughts that he nearly crashes into Sam as he exits the bedroom. 

“Oh," Sam looks speechless, bewildered, just another moment where he’s acting strangely around Gabriel, with no idea why, “I was just…," he points towards Dean, “…gonna go check on him”. 

He adds after a few moments, “He okay?” 

Gabriel nods and slips past him into the kitchen, can hear Sam follow him instantly instead of choosing his brother above him. He doesn’t mind much, Sam wanting to hang around him. Gabriel knows he feels more protected when he’s around, can feel Dean is looked after by someone even more capable than his own brother. That’s not to say he doesn’t want a moment alone, which is gone now, to not have to worry about Sam’s questions which are inevitably coming. He can sense them now. 

“What’s going on?”

The archangel doesn’t answer, just opens the fridge and pops a cherry in his mouth, staring up at Sam and wondering how much he really needs to tell him. Wondering how much he knows even though he’s sure he knows nothing. 

“About what?”

Sam crosses his arms and leans back against the counter, watches Gabriel chew and swallow down another cherry. 

“About why you’re here.”

Gabriel shrugs, taking a handful of the sweet fruit and throwing it into his mouth, spitting the pits out in the sink, “Does there need to be a reason?”

Sam shakes his head, clearly able to hear Gabriel’s words even though his mouth is completely full. He looks back towards the door separating his brother from the both of them, and Gabriel wonders why he doesn’t just go, why he doesn’t just leave him alone and give him a moment of peace after all that’s happened to him lately. Dean has to be more important than him. Clearly not. 

“What’s going on with Dean?”

He looks down at the floor, wanting to say ‘nothing’ but it’s just not coming out of his mouth. Something happens when he thinks about Dean, when he talks about him, something that leaves him speechless. 

“Gabriel.”

“…”

“Gabriel.”

He finally gives in, “What? What do you want me to say? That he’s fine? That he’s…”

He looks towards the door and wishes he hadn’t, because now he wants to go to him, wake him up and tell him he’s gonna be fine. Touch him, just once, to prove to himself that he’s real and alive and fine. But the truth is Dean’s far from okay, he hasn’t been okay for years now. 

“Who brought you back?”

He looks up at Sam, who speaks again, “What’s your agenda?”

“I suppose you wouldn’t believe me if I said I didn’t have one?”

Sam shakes his head and Gabriel nods back in understanding, “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

There is a long silence, it isn’t weird but it isn’t comfortable either. The archangel doesn’t know what it is, but he realizes one thing, that he should tell Sam. That why the hell is he even here if he’s not gonna tell them anything? And considering Dean is down for the count, Sam is the only Winchester brother accessible. 

He can’t keep this all inside anymore, it’s killing him, making him realize that he shouldn’t have to carry this burden alone, should let Sam have some of it because he wants to know anyway. And isn’t this the ideal time? When they’ve got plenty of time to talk and unravel and discuss?

There’s a part of them that doesn’t want to get the two of them into this, doesn’t want to see them get hurt because he knows they’re going to get hurt. But who else can he really turn to? It’s not like he can do this alone, it’s too big. There’s too much at stake and he can’t afford to be the one who ends the world, who snuffs out humanity. 

“There’s chaos, Sam. Chaos everywhere.”

Sam steps forward a little, though hesitantly, as if he’s still wary of the mere presence of the archangel, “What do you mean?”

Gabriel sighs, “I mean that Lucifer is back, and he’s not exactly ready to settle down yet.”

“You mean that the world’s about to end, again?”

Well, the youngest Winchester certainly doesn’t beat around the bush anymore. Times really have changed. Gabriel’s sort of sad he’s missed out on so many years. 

“In a way, yes.”

He can already sense Sam’s nerves fraying. 

“Just tell me, Gabriel!”

“I have reason to believe he has an ally.”

Now that really gets Sam’s gears whirring, “Who?”

That’s not something Gabriel’s willing to share yet, especially because it concerns Dean and he’s so close by he won’t dare utter it now. The archangel knows Sam Winchester though, and he knows that he will push as hard as he can. 

“What the fuck, Gabriel? You expect me to trust you just because you appeared before that werewolf had the chance to turn us into dinner? I need answers. I need them for Dean and I need them for me. So just, tell me.”

Sam struggles to keep his voice low and under control, not wanting to wake his brother from the deep, peaceful sleep he’s recently fallen in. Plus, he wants the advantage of knowing what the hell’s going on before Dean does. Sam Winchester doesn’t want to face it alone, but he also wants to be stronger for his elder brother, keep him out of harm’s way and protect him in any way possible. That’s why he needs Gabriel to tell him and he needs him to tell him now. 

“He’s back, Sam. Loki’s back.”

The Winchester nearly chokes on the water he’s just drunk, “Loki?”

Gabriel nods, knowing an explanation is coming. 

“I thought Loki was you, before you revealed who you really were?”

He shakes his head, tries to think of the simplest way he can put this to Sam, “You have to understand, Sam. Loki was pretty much a vessel for me. Yes, I was in the vessel I’m in now, but I also occupied Loki’s form in order to better disguise myself from my brothers.”

“So basically you were never really a trickster?”

Gabriel licks his lips and really wishes he had some candy right now, which is one aspect of being a trickster that remained with him, “Yes and no. In a lot of ways I am like him. I grew accustomed to his games and they fit me perfectly, were more than easy to morph into. I was limited with his abilities at first, learning to balance them with my own so as not to draw attention to myself, but in a way I eventually became Loki.”

“Though not really," Sam adds. 

He’s happy to find that Sam seems to get it, even if he’s not saying anything, even if it is far more complex than what he just described. He hasn’t got time for that now though, there are more pressing matters at hand. Primarily, Lucifer and his minions. 

“So what does this have to do with us," Sam asks, “you want us to throw Lucifer back in the cage?”

“No, I want you to stop his accomplice.”

“And by stop you mean kill?”

Gabriel nods slightly, very very hesitantly because maybe kill is too strong of a word, too specific. Maybe killing isn’t even really the answer. He’s spent so much time inside Loki, found out countless weaknesses and yet, he honestly doesn’t know how to go about destroying him. And of course he absolutely has no clue what happens to him if Loki is killed. He has no idea just how strongly he is still linked to his form. 

“Loki?”

“Loki.”

Sam nods, looks back at the door, “What does this have to do with Dean?”

Sam is smarter than he appears, by far, “Who said this has anything to do with Dean?”

The youngest crosses his arms and stares at Gabriel in the most threatening way he possesses. And even though Gabriel is far stronger, far superior, he still is able to feel the pressure, the strain, himself bending under Sam’s gaze and not wanting to hold back any longer. The only way he can convince himself to do this, is by believing that telling Sam will help Dean in the end. Save Dean in the end hopefully. Then again, this may be too much to ask for. 

“Alright, so you weren’t exactly the first to know that Loki’s alive.”

“You mean Dean, he’s…”

Gabriel nods, leading to Sam sighing softly, “He’s been having nightmares lately. I thought they were of hell but now I’m not so sure anymore. You think he’s been haunting him?”

“He’s not a ghost, Sam. But yet, I do believe there’s something he wants from Dean.”

_Or nothing, maybe he just wants Dean._

But he doesn’t tell his brother this, he doesn’t want him to worry and panic. He’ll carry this for now, it may not even be a certainty, even if the feeling of dread in his gut convinces him that it is. 

He looks up at Sam to see him staring intently at the glass of water in his hands, thinking hard and Gabriel wants to leave now before any more questions and expected answers are forced upon his already heavily burdened mind. 

“He must think Loki’s you though?”

Gabriel shakes his head, “I can’t be sure of anything, Sam. I have no idea what he has told him. For all we know, Dean knows a great deal more than we do.”

Sam shakes his head in turn, “I don’t think so, don’t think he’d keep something like that from me.”

“You’d be surprised what secrets your brother is capable of holding. You should know this more than I do, Sam.”

He still shakes his head, “No. I refuse to believe Dean would keep something like this from me. And don’t try to change my mind on the subject," he points a warning figure at the archangel. 

Gabriel shrugs and leans away from the counter, declaring this discussion more than finished, “Suit yourself," he stares back at the door, “but for what it’s worth, I know that Loki is linked to your brother in some way, wants him for something. And that’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

“What we’re trying to figure out," Sam corrects, “you’re not doing this alone anymore.”

Gabriel smiles, accomplishing exactly what he came here for.

He shouldn’t be smiling yet though, with Dean’s life at stake he is in doubt, and panicking, and ready to burst in there to wake Dean up and demand from the human what he knows. He doesn’t though, because he cares about the elder Winchester more than he should. 

A lot more than he should. 

 

He’s back. He’s so sick and tired of being back yet here he is. Back again. 

In the land of shadows, to the man of shadows. 

He really should be calling him Loki by now, but old habits really do die hard. 

His captor turns around so Dean can see more than just his back, which would once come as a relief but is now quite terrifying. As much as he tries to suppress that terror this time he is unable to, there’s so much running around in his head right now, so much bullshit that he can’t bear to put up with this as well. He wants to go back, even to hell, though being awake would be far more preferable.

Loki’s malicious grin causes him to gulp, to struggle to breathe, to pray that he is thrashing around in his sleep so at least Sam can hear him, see him and wake him. But it’s not gonna happen, he’s on his own for this round, like he always is. 

“Hello, Dean.”

He hates it when he says his name, turns it into poison, the one word that should never be uttered by something this evil. This was one of the few distinctions he had between him and Gabriel, the latter always uses his name and the former has only ever used ‘human’. Until now. Gabriel says his name not quite normally but at least calmly and pleasantly, peace to Dean’s ears. When Gabriel utters his name it sounds like it’s been rolling around on his tongue to get it to the perfect tone, sounds like it’s made to come out of his mouth. 

Dean knows it’s weird to think about this, to feel this way, but it’s true. When the archangel says his name he wants to melt into a little puddle of goo in the corner. 

As soon as he looks into the Shadowman’s eyes, when they only start to hold his gaze, he can see more than ever before that this is not Gabriel. These eyes may be able to hold onto the gold hue for several moments before Dean sees them flash black, what they really are. The color to match the personality.

Not only this, but being around Gabriel is like being around an incredibly soft and peaceful cloud. Okay, terrible reference. It’s indescribable when the archangel is around, he’s fierce but yet towards Dean he’s protective and instills relaxation. He likes being around Gabriel, it’s that simple no matter how creepy it is. 

He tries, _fights,_ to look away. And he prays to Gabriel now, because he’s not sure if he knows about Loki and despite wanting to keep it a secret he wants to alert him now, tell him that this creature probably wants to kill him in the next few seconds. 

Dean Winchester is this close to breaking down, because if this time is anything like the last time, he really is dead. 

“Please take me back. I don’t want to be here.”

The Shadowman, Loki, raises his eyebrows, “You’d rather be in hell?”

Dean shivers when he thinks of hell, despite saying he’d rather be there earlier, “No.”

Loki smiles and it’s nothing like Gabriel’s, “That’s what I thought.”

As soon as he takes a step forward, Dean takes a step back, nearly crashing into a wall that he remembered quite clearly wasn’t there before. Time to start playing the trickster’s games, he thinks with dread. 

“Don’t run from me, human. You’ll only make it harder on yourself.”

There it is again, ‘human’, and as unsavory as that is he hopes it stays that way because as far as he’s concerned, this monster should not be calling him Dean. A monster who looks like the spitting image of Gabriel but isn’t. It hurts, like he is being thrown among flames that take his body instantly and burn his flesh off piece by piece, far worse than hell even, when he realizes that he has to be Gabriel, that there’s no way someone could occupy the same vessel at the same time. But still, he tries to tell himself that this is not Gabriel, that Gabriel would never treat him like this. 

Would he?

No, he shakes his head inwardly. To hold him to what he believes Dean thinks of the light, of the time he woke up to find Gabriel there, feeding him and watching over him. His eyes not full of malice but protection and something else he sees sometimes in his own brother’s eyes, something he can’t place now. He thinks of what he woke up to in the woods, the archangel’s light and gentle touch on his aching and dying body, the words he heard that were nothing like Loki’s words. His voice was only ever made to soothe, not hurt him. Never used to put him into harm. 

So when Loki says his name it burns, harder and longer than hell ever did. It makes him want to burst into tears, accept this as Gabriel and never trust him again. 

“Dean.”

No, not like this. This isn’t Gabriel. It’s a gut instinct, and he always trusts gut instincts. 

“Get out of my head, you freak.”

Loki is on him in milliseconds, holding him by the throat just like the time before, threatening and nearly succeeding in squeezing the life out of him. Seconds tick by and his eyes start to close as his vision goes black around the edges. Dean feels pain, so much pain, suspecting his neck has been reduced to a bloody pulp and he’s far beyond saving now. The last thing he sees are Loki’s eyes, and that’s not the last thing he wants to see, not that darkness is much better as an alternative. 

He groans loudly and nearly screams when he realizes that Loki is holding him so tightly he isn’t able to struggle, isn’t able to do anything but experience his death all over again. And as he prays to Sammy, to Gabriel one more time, he truly wishes the light would be the last thing he would see before…

“How many times must I make this clear, Dean? You are mine.”


	4. Till You Rupture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4, here I come. If you’re still reading this, I thank you so much and hope you continue to enjoy. I also hope you’ve not been disappointed so far. I’m still not positive on the number of chapters, but I guess surprises are good sometimes anyway. Loki will be getting more and more time in these next chapters, and Gabriel and Dean will be interacting more as well. And let’s not forget about Sam, who’s gonna get in on the action too. All I can say is enjoy, and please review if there’s something you’d like to say or ask or both, I’d love to hear from you.   
> Song Featured: Title and lyrics of the chapter are taken from my favorite song, Chevelle’s “Closure”.

_~ Like a leech  
I hold on as if we belonged  
To some precious pure dream  
Cast off you’ve seen what’s beneath  
Now fail me  
Forget closure~_

The hand continues to tighten around his throat, if that’s even possible. It hurts so much he isn’t able to feel the panic anymore, isn’t able to wonder, to worry about anything at all. Loki’s words and grip consume his mind fully, leave him no room for doubts or even thoughts and hopes of escaping his unrelenting captor. 

_You are mine._

The emphasis in the last three words is clear and ear-splittingly rings out in his ears thousands of times. And he knows, as much as he wants to argue, knows that this is true. 

“No, he’s not.”

Dean opens his eyes to little slits, unable to open them further because he is seconds away from unconsciousness. He sees a figure bathed in light, the same light that sheltered him in sleep, that kept him calm and stress free. And without a doubt be knows, feels that this is Gabriel. 

Like ocean waves, the relief the archangel brought to him as a gift flows over his entire body, clearing his mind and without a doubt in his head, he gives himself over, all that he is, to Gabriel. Because he’s got his back now. So Dean just sinks back in the waves, doesn’t worry about drowning because Gabriel wouldn’t let him in a heartbeat. 

_My savior._

He smiles a little as Gabriel grabs his near murderer and throws him heavily to the side, back into the shadows from whence he came, now unseen by Dean’s increasingly blurring vision. There is a minor scuffle where Loki fights to retaliate, but Gabriel quickly overcomes him from the little Dean can see, and soon he is back beside him. Completely focused on him and not of the being that looks so freakishly like him it burns a permanent mark of confusion and dislike on the human’s soul.

Before his legs turn to jello and he drops to the ground, his body warning him previously and making good on its inability to hold his full weight up, before he is able to see the Shadowman, who he knows is still there, Gabriel takes hold of him firmly yet gently and they are out of there, out of that shadowy hell in moments. 

Dean would gasp out a sigh of happiness if only his throat would work properly, if only his soul, his arms, every single aching part of him weren’t clutching onto Gabriel like a lifeline, if only he didn’t feel so sick and nauseous and confused at what the hell is going on and why the hell this is happening to him. He feels his body lowered onto carpet, though his upper half still being held by Gabriel, and after that there’s a hand briefly swiping across his throat, bringing his vision and voice back so startlingly he nearly screams from the shock and sudden pain he feels before that is gone as well.

His eyes wander up to find something, anything to lay his eyes on. And it is soon Gabriel’s golden embers, glowing ambers so deep he could fall into them and bask in their warmth forever. 

He coughs a few times, finding it relatively easy to get his breathing under control after Gabriel helped him out. The sirens are going off in his head now, demanding him to see that what is happening isn’t normal, that the archangel should be pushing him away right now, not holding onto him so desperately it’s like he’s actually the one in danger. More prominent though, is the steady voice, always in front, always heard, reminding him that he is not a chick and most certainly is not the kind of man who enjoys being held, even if it does feel really nice. 

So he pushes away, allowing Gabriel to help him stand and make sure he can effectively stay upright, but that is all. He’ll give the archangel the satisfaction of knowing Dean’s okay, of remembering clearly that he saved him from his evil twin. But that is all because Dean’s confusion and confliction are dragging him down and making him feel insecure, unsure of anything at this point. 

And he doesn’t like it one bit. 

Gabriel looks tired, exhausted even, still riled up from their little encounter with the closest thing resembling the devil himself. And he still looks panicked, afraid, Dean quickly realizes with dread. He doesn’t need this right now, needs Gabriel to get back on top of his game, protecting his and Sammy’s asses, knowing what the fuck is going on and what Loki’s true intentions are. 

But all he does is stare at the human he’s just saved, wanting to say everything and nothing at the same time, wishing to reassure him but not sure what words should be chosen. Craving to swear that he’ll always be around to protect him. But he can’t lie. He doesn’t even know how he defeated Loki this time. 

“I know what’s been going on with you, Dean.”

“What?”

“I know about Loki.”

Dean licks his lips and is growing dizzy again, not a good sign, from the onsets of having a panic attack, “How long?”

Gabriel takes a step forward but the human won’t take it, taking a step back nearly immediately after. He thinks about how so much could have been avoided if Gabriel had ended up telling him sooner, had just said one fucking word to warn him, to assure him he’s not alone in this. But nothing, nothing. And he feels sick to his stomach, like he’s already back in Loki’s clutches. Like no one has his back anymore. 

And then he wonders, just for a brief moment, whether Sam knows as well. 

“Dean, please wait. Don’t jump to any conclusions.”

“How long, Gabriel?”

He’s done with this bullshit, but he’s gotta keep himself together. 

“You have to know I wanted to tell you, it’s just… it was just never the right time.”

Dean shakes his head in disgust, “And Sam?”

Gabriel sighs softly, “He knows.”

“So all this time, all this secrecy, the reason why you’re here…”

“Dean…,” another step forward and another step back. 

The archangel can’t take anymore, he hates it when Dean is in distress like this because he can feel it, feel his pain and doubt and anger and hurt. He is hurting so much, so many emotions at once that he just wants to scoop him into his arms and hold him, make him understand this was all for his own good. 

But Dean is stubborn and he’ll refuse to listen and that’s the end of that. 

Except with Gabriel, it’s not over until he says it’s over. 

And as always, he’s much too late. 

A shadow creeps up on them before another word can be spoken, another action can be taken, and soon it is pulling Dean away. Gabriel feels the pure unadulterated fear, his own mingled with Dean’s since he is refusing to leave his mind, abandon his soul. Dean isn’t in this alone anymore. Gabriel reaches for him, reaches for him desperately but the human is already back in his evil twin’s clutches before their fingers can even brush. And the last thing he sees is the human’s eyes latched onto his own, pleading, begging and he gives in. How could he not?

“Dean! No!”

He follows immediately, descending once more back into that pitch black hell, slamming Loki up against the wall, hating that he’s so occupied with him that he can’t stop Dean from tumbling to the concrete floor. Rage swells up within him as Loki tries to pry inside his mind, to trick him, to manipulate him, to convince him Dean is the enemy, is theirs for the taking. No, he cares about Dean. And he won’t let this monster take him, no matter how strong he is. 

Gabriel sends forth a massive wave of his grace, emanating out of his vessel in the form of light, a light that directed at any human would kill, but to Loki, seeming to have no effect except to alarm him and force him to back down for a few seconds, losing his train of thought. Giving the archangel some much needed time. 

He reaches for Dean, one last time, and feels skin brush skin, lets himself take him immediately, sending another burst of blinding light towards his captor as he whisks Dean away. He glances back to see Loki on his knees, staring up at the both of them menacingly and then he is gone from their sight as they retreat back into the motel room, with Sam still nowhere in sight. 

It’s a wonder Dean’s still conscious, considering how much Loki’s put him through and that he’s freaking out now more than anything. 

“What the fuck!” He struggles to push himself out of Gabriel’s super tight grip, which he loosens a little when he realizes he’s bruising Dean. 

But the archangel simply won’t allow it, not like the last time, when he let Dean go and was rewarded with the task of having to save his life again. 

“Dean, look at me. Look at me right now!”

Dean abruptly ceases his struggle and looks up alarmed as Gabriel places a hand under his chin and tilts his head up. 

He stares so very deep into his eyes when he speaks, “You’re fine.”

Dean can’t help the comeback, “You wouldn’t say that if you were nearly molested by your savior’s second half.”

Gabriel runs a thumb across the front of his his neck soothingly, a soft side to side motion that is set to ground the human. Dean lets his eyes slip shut for a millisecond. 

“You’re fine," he repeats slowly, wanting to let it sink into Dean’s mind. 

The human loses himself for a minute and soon he is falling back a little, lying in Gabriel’s arms the next time he comes back to the here and now. 

He sits up abruptly, “The hell?”

Dean would normally be concerned over Gabriel playing tricks on him, trying to bend him to his own will, to keep him in one place to his own advantage. But considering he just saved him, twice, from himself in a fucked up sort of way, he’s willing to overlook that now, trust him. And even if that is what Gabriel’s plan is, then so be it because the human is more relaxed than ever before. 

But those voices come back again, and considering he’s Dean Winchester there’s not much chance of ignoring them. 

The archangel lets him go willingly, though he looks worried. A little… disappointed. 

“I will contact Sam," he says, coming back to himself quickly as he stands and starts to force himself to leave Dean, considering he’s safe for the time being. 

“Wait!” 

Dean shouts just in time. 

And Gabriel waits. 

“What just happened?”

The archangel shakes his head, “I don’t know, Dean. I don’t know.”

And those last few words, coming from the archangel who’s saved him more times than can be counted, scare him to death. Nearly literally. 

 

Of course, when Sam comes back he freaks out a little bit more than is necessary. Words don’t even need to be exchanged the moment he steps through the door carrying groceries and what looks to be research papers. All he sees is the dried blood Dean had forgotten to wipe off his face, his throat specifically, and all hell breaks loose after that. 

Sam drops the two bags of groceries in shock, cracking a bottle of whiskey Dean really needs at that point. He runs over towards his brother who’s sitting on the bed, still trying to recover from that little incident and wondering when Gabriel would decide to show his holy presence again. 

There is no doubt that it’s more than a little awkward around him, but Dean is getting to the point where he’s willing to put up with it as long as he feels safe, protected and comfortable enough to sleep until his brother gets back to hold down the fort while he gets that much needed sleep. And the alcohol, which to his major disappointment is now as good as gone, soaks into the carpet more and more as each second ticks by. 

_Gabriel, bring me something strong, please. Preferably whiskey._

No response. 

_Goddammit._

“Oh my god, Dean. What the hell happened to you?”

Dean tries to push Sam away but his efforts are wasted. When his brother goes into full on protective mode, there is no going back. Also, Dean feels like he’s still in a daze, half panicking, a result of the fear that Loki will come back and take him away, and half confusion. He’s unsure as to where he should stand on the whole Gabriel issue, whether he should hate him or just not trust him, or if he should be concerned more over his hidden agendas than with Loki. 

He’s sticking with Loki more at this point. And he really really wants to trust Gabriel, he just isn’t sure if he can afford to. 

“Relax, Sam. I am fine.”

“How can you say that?” Sam pouts, eyes wide and unblinking. If there were puppy dog ears they’d be drooping low and hidden under his insanely long and disarrayed hair. 

“You’re covered in blood. Your own blood.” 

_I wonder how the hell he came to that conclusion._

“Fuck, Dean," he goes on, “I can’t even leave you alone for more than a minute. How the hell am I supposed to go out if you’re gonna get attacked when I turn my back?”

“Jeez, Sam, go ahead and bring my morale down more than it is. And for your information," he’s finally successful in brushing Sam’s hand away from his face, “I wasn’t alone.   
Gabriel was here.”

Sam doesn’t look impressed, or any less concerned for that matter, “Then I guess he didn’t do a good enough job. Have you even looked at yourself in the mirror?”

His little brother then walks into the bathroom. The eldest can hear water running before he comes back out quickly, holding a damp washcloth and wiping the blood off Dean’s neck, focused completely on doing that extra gently. 

“Shit, Dean. Look at the bruises.”

Dean ignores him, he really wants to forget about the whole thing at this time, even though his throat hurts like hell and his brother isn’t helping him to move past that nightmare at all. 

“Dean…”

“Don’t, Sam. Gabriel saved me, end of story.”

He knows it’s not though, far from it in fact because he still doesn’t know why Gabriel saved him, what the point even is because he’s a human and Gabriel an archangel. It’s really itching at him that he knows so little, that he can scarce imagine why Gabriel would care, at all. 

“I should have been there.”

“No, Sam, you can’t babysit me 24/7. That’s not your job.”

“It is," Sam fights back, but he isn’t too into it, concentrating more on cleaning Dean up than fighting with him to prove him wrong. 

Dean squirms a little, uncomfortable from where the conversation has gone. He should have known when Sam came back that he was gonna be like this, he guesses he just didn’t think about it too much at the time. 

Loki terrifies him, and from the second he saw genuine fear in Gabriel’s eyes he knew he was terrified by him too. That’s what scares Dean even more. 

“Sit still, I’m not done yet.”

Dean sighs heavily, looking away from Sam and staring at the whiskey continuing to stain the pale peach carpet. The whiskey literally screaming at him to be retrieved and drunk till he doesn’t even think about Sam or Gabriel or any of this whole fucked up situation anymore. 

“Dean…”

“What?”

Sam clears his throat a little, looks up from Dean’s neck into his eyes, which are now trained upon him a little nervously. 

“Did Loki do this?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it, Sam.”

“Alright," Sam says softly, “just… I’m here.”

He looks up at Dean with a pleading look in his eyes, as if Dean unburdening his troubles and memories of near death would help Sam. But that’s bullshit, Dean isn’t strong enough yet. And he has no place, no right to put this on Sam. No matter how much he wants him to carry it. 

The eldest doesn’t say anything, not when Sam pulls away to pick up the groceries and unpack them, not when he asks a silent and dazed Dean what he wants for dinner, not when his little brother, who is everything to him and more, walks back up to him and puts a hand on his shoulder. 

All he does is jerk away and lock himself in the bathroom, listening to the sounds of Sam using the stove, brewing coffee, and setting plates and silverware on the table. 

_It’s gonna be a long night._

 

They’re awake late into the night, sharing a desk and drinking coffee whilst pouring through the papers Sam brought back with him. It’s a whole pile of bullshit really, there’s nothing there that could amount to anything. Dean doesn’t understand why Sam didn’t just go to Gabriel if he wanted to find out more about tricksters. After all, he was technically Loki for who knows how long. 

Sam’s filled him in a little on what Gabriel told him and so forth, though much is still left to be desired. And while Dean is more than happy to admit he’s no longer being left in the dark, it doesn’t mean this information scares the shit out of him any less. 

No matter what he’s learned, he still can’t understand why Gabriel is here, wanting to help them kill Loki and sticking around to look after the both of them. It’s downright creepy even if it is kinda nice. Gabriel’s gaze thrown upon him at every moment he’s around is confusing and awkward, even if he does sort of like it. 

But of course he’s nowhere near accepting that. 

Dean Winchester doesn’t like archangels. They’re the biggest dicks in the world and Gabriel shouldn’t be any different. Too bad he may turn out to be. 

Sam scrubs a hand across his face, yawning wide and shaking his head, “Sorry, Dean. I really did think I would find something.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, Sam. I could have told you myself the only thing we would find would be in a freaking mythology book. Whatever the hell that’s gonna do for us.”

He throws the book he was just looking at for the past hour aside, starting to think about his comfy bed in the next room, feeling its softness and safeness draw him in, hearing the voice in his mind tempting him to get some sleep. And maybe he should cause it doesn’t look like him and Sam have anything else to do, they’ve been through nearly a couple dozen thick ass books and stacks of papers and considering it’s nearly two o’clock in the morning, as far as he’s concerned he’s up way past his bedtime. 

“Find what?”

The brothers look up simultaneously to see Gabriel standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets and trying his damndest to look casual. It’s not working.

“What the hell?” Dean’s outburst confirms the archangel, his savior, just scared the shit out of him, even though he has been anticipating his return all night. 

Sam acts like it’s the most normal thing in the world and for all anyone could know, the two of them have known each other for ages while Dean was on the sidelines, watching the two of them in utter amazement. 

“Trying to find some stuff on tricksters. Though clearly, not much is known about them, other than from what I already knew from a class I took in college.”

Dean’s too caught up in Gabriel being there to ask his geek brother about that last sentence. 

“Why didn’t you just ask me?” Gabriel walks closer, eyes scanning across the various titles of books on the table, eyebrows raising and seeming to want to laugh at their stupidity a little. 

Dean wants to punch him in the face suddenly. 

“Cause," Dean looks up at him, suddenly wondering if it’s possible to push Gabriel’s buttons considering how much he’s seemed to change, “you weren’t exactly around.”

Sam gives him a warning glance before sitting back in his chair and stretching a little, “I figured if there was something you wanted to tell us, you’d just say it already. So we figured that instead of waiting for you," he closes the cover of a book on Norse gods, “we would just start the research ourselves.”

“I can tell you everything you need to know, Sam.”

“Then where have you been?” Dean shoots back, leaning forward in his chair and staring at the archangel accusingly. 

Gabriel sighs, “Trying to see the extent of the damage done in heaven so far.”

There’s a long pause before Dean demands angrily, “And?”

“It’s not good.”

“Well obviously, Gabriel!”

“Dean!” Sam shouts back at him, warning him again but for the life of him Dean just can’t listen. 

Why bother? More than anything it seems they’re working for Gabriel now and he can’t stand it, can’t stand the fact that his brother is a dog waiting to be thrown a bone by one of the most powerful creatures that has ever walked the earth. But Dean’s not intimidated by Gabriel, if anything he’s pissed as fucking hell. 

He’s succeeded in one major area though, letting Gabriel know how every part of him is filled with rage. And as the archangel’s gaze falls upon him, a gaze filled with all the proof Dean will need of accepting his challenge, he can’t help but feel ready, ready to kick Gabriel’s ass if need be. It’s not that he wants to, it’s simply that he has no other options. 

“What exactly is it that you really want to say to me, Dean?” Gabriel challenges, looking down at Dean, kinda funny since Dean is taller than him, like he should know he’s his superior. 

Dean stands up to prove he’s done taking it. 

“I want the truth," he looks down at Sam. “And so does Sam. He’s just too damn ignorant to say anything.”

Sam sighs loudly and puts his head in his hands, Dean ignores him. He’s willing to do this for the both of them. To show the Winchesters can’t be pushed around by anyone, not even Gabriel. 

“I plan to tell you everything you need to know.”

_Need? What is it with archangels these days?_

“What, so we’re expected to just sit around, waiting for you to tell us when it’s time to act? That’s complete bullshit, Gabriel. I’m going fucking stir crazy here.”

Okay, so that last part may only be half true. He was completely fine before Gabriel showed up, working on healing and building back the bond he once had with his brother. And things were going smoothly, that is, until he had to show up and make their lives hell like always. And now that Gabriel’s filled them in a little, he is going insane with curiosity and itching to know every detail about Loki, about what the hell Gabriel exactly wants. Cause honestly he has no freaking clue. 

“There are more things at stake here, Dean. And if you’ll just have a little patience," he grits his teeth and Dean easily notices his hands slowly clenching into fists, “you’ll move past your pigheadedness and realize I’m right.”

Ah ha! So he still can be provoked. Dean’s satisfaction is arriving now, and it’s making him feel bolder and more like his old self. Hallelujah. 

“Of course, so you can go play with your brothers up on the big cloud in the sky. Toying with our lives and plotting against them whenever the hell you feel like it. You think you own this world, you imagine you own us. But one specific thing you missed is that you’re as screwed up as everyone else is. Welcome to the show o’ mighty archangel. Kiss my ass and then kiss Lucifer’s while you’re at it.”

Gabriel is on him before he can say another word. He grabs Dean forcefully, his hands digging into Dean’s arms painfully and he bites back a scream. Cause it fucking hurts and he realizes in that moment it’s not going to stop anytime soon. Gabriel probably won’t kill him, if it is true that he needs him to stop the takeover of his beloved heaven, but that doesn’t mean the archangel won’t leave him as good as dead, drifting in agony and misery for the next few days at least. Oh shit, what has he done to himself?

He struggles, fights to pry Gabriel’s hands off him, can see blood start to form and Sam is screaming ‘stop!’ while he’s being slammed against the wall. He panics, more than panics as he sees his brother try to get Gabriel away from him desperately, as he’s pushed back numerous times until Sam is on the ground breathing heavily and watching with horrified eyes. 

Dean drops to the ground, Gabriel leaning down to push him up against the wall painfully, punching him with a steel fist several times in his belly. The first time his fist connected, found its human mark, Dean felt like he was dying, fire brimming up inside him and burning away every piece of him that ever mattered, offering no reprieve and paired with those amber eyes it’s beyond excruciating. It’s the equivalent of being buried alive, the breath sucked out of you so sharply that you wish you never felt life in the first place. And the second and third and fourth times are literally unbearable. He might have screamed, he’s not sure of anything anymore. 

“Gabriel, stop! You’re killing him!”

Sam’s screams are hard to focus on, difficult to make out, and he can’t see him anymore as his vision grows blurry, as the fight leaves him to die alone and his body revolts, slumping him further against the wall as he realizes he would give anything at all right now just to breathe properly. Just to get Gabriel to stop. 

“Gabriel!”

Sam’s screams are in vain and so are Dean’s nonstop, yet pitiful attempts at getting away. But when he looks into the archangel’s ferocious eyes, he sees not a flicker of hope or mercy. Gabriel is beyond angry, beyond the point of forgiveness. He looks about ready to kill him sometime in the next few seconds. 

Blood is already gushing out of his mouth as Gabriel stops for a millisecond before moving his fist up to his face. He punches him hard, and Dean can feel nothing but his cheek shatter at the sheer impact, is almost positive he screams at that. He’s about ready to beg, if he can even get the words out. Because this is not how he wants to go out. 

But as the archangel’s fist rises up once more, just as Dean imagines this is it before he slips into unconsciousness, everything slows and everything stops. Through his blurring vision he sees Gabriel, staring him directly in the eyes for the first time in what must have been ages. And as the terrified and just as horrified look starts to appear on his face once he starts noticing the pained and hurt look on Dean’s own, the human knows it’s over now. It’s all over. 

Gabriel’s hand descends slowly, hovers by Dean’s cheek, seeming to want to stroke it but hesitating, just before he pulls it back to his side. 

Dean is shocked that he’s able to suppress the whimpers waiting, pleading to escape as he curls in on himself and rests his throbbing head against the carpet, his weakened arms wrapping carefully around his screaming belly. He knows Gabriel is standing above him, his face a surprising image of shock and pain. 

He closes his eyes, feels Sammy’s comforting and nice cool hands brush over him, grab onto him tightly and lift him off the rough carpet, pulling him against him and leaning against the wall, holding him. Dean’s head sinks into his shoulder, getting his breathing back under control and not caring that he’s being held by his baby brother because he’s the only thing grounding him, helping him calm down. 

Sam holds onto him tighter as he whispers, “He’s gone now, Dean. It’s okay, it’s over.”

Dean doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t want to feel anymore, to see the extent of his injuries. He’ll let Sam worry about that as he drifts off into dreamland.

 

“He sure did a number on you.”

Dean sighs and sits on the shadowed ground, wrapping his arms around his knees as the Shadowman doesn’t bother to turn around, instead shows him his back as if it’s the most magnificent thing in the world. His injuries aren’t shown here, instead he looks perfectly fine, as if nothing happened at all. He can’t feel pain either, well, not physical anyway. Emotional is an entirely different story. 

Tricksters are deceptive though, Loki’s just probably forcing the proof of realistic events away at the moment for Dean, clearly able to see the injuries himself otherwise why would he have commented? 

He wonders if Loki was actually watching the massive beating going down. But then again, he doesn’t need to ponder that. Of course he saw it all. 

Dean doesn’t want anyone to see him like that though, being turned into a coward and a bloody pulp in front of Sam was something he had never wanted to happen. And he wonders what Sam’s doing now, now that he’s back in this more than familiar hell. 

“You’ll be better off with me, Dean. I’ll treat you better than that infidel with wings.”

Dean’s eyes close, wondering if he’ll wake back up in his bed if he falls asleep here. Is that too much to hope? He can’t even feel movement, doesn’t even realize how close the Shadowman is to him now before Loki’s hands descend upon his body, hands that are so cold Dean shivers and thinks about pulling away. But he’s far too exhausted. 

They run through his hair, across his back, sliding across his stomach so sneakily it’s almost like they’re not really there at all. Dean breathes, can’t manage to feel panic after the ordeal he’s just gone through, let’s Loki do what he wants because he’ll do what he wants regardless of Dean’s wishes. If he fights, struggles, he’s as good as dead. 

He’s learning lessons after Gabriel managed to teach them to him in painful ways. 

“I could take care of you," Loki murmurs as Dean’s eyes open slowly, watching the supposedly innocent look flash across the monster’s face. 

“I’m no monster," he continues, diving inside his mind once more. 

The human continues to look up at him, “Why are you going easy on me?”

“Because, I’m not the bad guy here, Dean.”

Dean licks his cracked lips, growing increasingly numb from the bitter cold of this place, “And why should I believe you?”

Loki retreats from Dean, as if that alone proves his point. He turns away again, so that Dean can’t see his face nor read it for that matter. 

“Why should you believe Gabriel?”

Dean doesn’t know, but it’s certainly worth thinking about. 

“I’ll bet you want to go back now, back under your brother’s watchful gaze. Just remember, Dean, I’ll always be here as well.”

The human jerks awake in his bed, crashing into Sam’s arms, which wrap around him tightly and securely, stroking his back. It’s a more than welcome touch after having the Shadowman’s hands on him only moments before. 

He breathes out, breathes in. Both with an equal struggle. 

He certainly has a lot to think about. 

 

He’s in Sam’s bed, and he’s eternally grateful because being in his own bedroom, where Gabriel had once taken care of him, adorned the bed with his trademark silk sheets, would most likely cause him to throw up everywhere and lose consciousness once more. And he really really doesn’t want that. 

After endless hovering, Sam leaves Dean alone for a while, heads off into the kitchen to cook something only for Dean to find him typing away at his laptop, sitting at the table when he manages to build up the strength to get up. He watches Sam for a few minutes after crawling out of his bed, then he heads towards the bathroom, locking the door behind him. 

Breathing in and breathing out. 

His hands are shaking badly, eyes brimming with unshed tears, forehead crumpled with the pain of standing, which is the last thing he should be doing right now. 

He looks up into the mirror, ready to face what horrors the archangel has enacted upon him. He doesn’t need this, this extra agony, not after he was so close to fully healing.   
Dean’s left cheek is a bright, vivid and sickening red, flush with heat and exploding with pain, giving him a mind blowing headache and causing him to pop five more Tylenols. 

He shuts his eyes, breathes out and in before opening them back up. 

His stomach is a bloody and pitiful mess, bandaged up by Sam’s careful hands, covered in stitches and pain. 

It hurts to breathe, it hurts to think, it hurts to know that it was Gabriel, not Loki, who had done this to him. But yet he continues to breathe, goes on thinking and letting realization dawn on him. And it’s a wonder he’s still standing, still has the strength to cope. Because right now he feels useless, stupid, like he’ll never be Dean Winchester again. 

It’s time for Sam to do his best to piece him back together, as if he really needs that on his plate right now. 

Dean knows he shouldn’t have provoked him, but he never imagined Gabriel could get that angry over the little things he said. 

_Gabriel would never hurt you._

_Except he did, he did hurt you._

Gabriel hurt him in more ways than could be counted, he had just started to build up trust for the archangel and now he doesn't ever want to see him again, for fear of going into a panic attack. 

He chokes back a sob, still a great deal riled up from less than an hour before, struggling to hold back his emotions and finding it increasingly hard to do so. He looks back up at his broken face, his burning cheek, his now tear-filled eyes. 

And he lets it all go. 

The broken human collapses against the wall, holding a hand over his mouth, not wanting Sam to hear him as he cries, fighting not to lose himself in a panic attack because the door is locked and he doesn’t want to die like this. Doesn’t want to die at all. 

The tears just come pouring pouring pouring, never letting up, continuing to make his face ache and his throat close up so it’s even harder for him to breathe than it was before. 

_Gabriel would never hurt you._

_Except he did, he did hurt you._

_And he meant it, he meant everything._

He gasps loudly as he calms down a little, surprised and relieved that he doesn’t hear a knock at the door, no footsteps nor words nor tears from the hopelessness his brother must have felt. 

Eventually, he goes to bed, back to his own bed, inviting Sam to sleep by his absence because they both need it as far as he’s concerned. He stares at the bed for a few minutes, trying not to think about that memory of waking up to find the archangel there, with a bowl of soup and an easy smile. It seems like that was ages ago, even more that he didn’t happen at all, just the Shadowman fucking with his already damaged mind. 

Dean shivers slightly and rips the silk sheets off, crumples them up and throws them on the floor because it’s too much for him to handle. He can feel Gabriel’s touch, his warmth within those sheets and it’s painful for him now. 

He asks the Shadowman to not bother him because he needs peace for once in his life. And he hopes, hopes Gabriel won’t show up anytime soon as well. 

Dean needs time to heal… again. And it’ll be a miracle if he can do it this time. 

But at least he has Sam. And he feels for the first time in a long time, that it’s enough. 

Then at last Dean collapses, on top of the threadbare sheet separating him from the cold and hard mattress. He falls into a deep sleep, nothing to disturb him, his wishes respected in being left alone. 

At least sleep takes him away from reality. 

 

Gabriel is sure when Dean falls asleep, must be sure because startling Dean in his already fragile state is far too risky and unacceptable and just plain sick and wrong. He appears in the doorway, tiptoeing quietly over to the bed, his face contorting in agony when he sees Dean’s pale and flushed form, blood drying on the sheet beneath him as his breathing hitches. Gabriel gasps and turns away for a long moment, thinking it quite possible for him to throw up for hours and hours and hours. 

Instead he allows a few tears to fall, any more would cause him to lose control, and he pushes himself, forces himself to turn back and look upon the only thing in the world he has ever cared about. 

What has he done? 

And oh no, Dean’s face. His beautiful torn up face. 

Dean is lying on his side because he rarely lies on his back, and of course any weight on his stomach at this point would be pure torture. His mouth is slightly parted, breath coming out in little gasps and Gabriel can feel his bottom lip quiver, his grace flutter frantically as he permits himself, dares to move closer. 

He checks behind him to make sure Sam isn’t around to make an attempt to strangle him, and then he bends down, looks more closely at Dean’s face. At what he has done.

The pillows are slightly wet with tears, and there are also tear tracks adorning the human’s face. And suddenly it’s all too much, all the things and actions he’s replaying over and over in his head.

The loss he now feels, the worry and concern creeping up on him, screaming at him how stupid he is, how he could have killed Dean. 

It’s too much but he must face it, face it because he did it, gave him the damage because he couldn’t keep himself under control. He’s the one to blame here. Dean’s words shouldn’t have given him that reaction. 

Gabriel remembers what made him stop, seeing the horror and terror in Dean’s eyes, and it broke him. 

All he could see in that one moment was Dean pressed up against the wall like a wounded and disgraced animal, big hazel eyes pleading him, staring into his own so deeply it made him stop dead in his tracks. 

Everything just froze, silence and withering motions and fear hung in the air as thick as honey. And the way Dean had looked at him, the way he seemed to shine so brightly to him. 

Something made him stop. And he’s afraid of just what that might have been. 

What the hell was he doing? And what the hell was he thinking?

He remembers backing up to see it was already too late, he might have saved Dean from death but not from anything less than that. The state that the human would end up in, the guilt Gabriel would soon kill himself over. This was just blown way out of control. 

And oh, how he wanted so much to touch him, to lay gentle and apologetic fingers on his face, on his cheek. How he would have felt so much better. 

The archangel pulled away though because Dean had had enough, because he didn’t deserve to touch this human who had been corrupted, hurt under Gabriel’s uncontrollable hands. 

He really is a monster. 

Gabriel picks up the silk sheets off the carpet once he notices them discarded purposefully. He fingers them slowly and for several minutes, breathing in Dean’s lingering scent from the one night he showed just how much he truly cared. Several of his tears fall onto them, infusing with the soft silk as he exerts his grace once more back into them, makes them cool and soft and once more the smoky blue color that looked so gorgeous against the human’s skin. 

He tries to suppress reliving what he actually did to Dean, tries to lose himself in past memories of not too long ago. It’s impossible though, when he looks at Dean, when he looks at any part of himself. 

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever make it up to Dean. 

Gabriel pulls the sheets back over him very carefully and slowly, making sure every part of him is tucked in and in a comfortable position. He smiles when he hears Dean’s contented sigh, body moving a little under the sheets. Gabriel strokes his bruised cheek, like he’s wanted to do for the last hour, with his thumb before disappearing again.

 

“Have you gained the human’s trust?”

He looks up at him, doubt and fear and the first slivers of hatred within his eyes, his heart, if he even has a heart, telling him to go one way and who he is telling him to go another. He doesn’t deny that he should have done things differently, that he shouldn’t have gotten so close, so concerned, so human. 

He’s no human. 

He has never been one to serve him, but he has chosen this, the alternative not his style and not within his power or interest to choose. But he feels an unbearable sense of longing, that he’s going about this all wrong. His wings aren’t everything, he knows this. Being selfish is something he’s more than possessed, used to his own personal intents, it’s a part of who he is. But times are changing, he is changing and running amidst his grace he no longer feels the urge to be this way. What he feels is guilt, what he longs for is forgiveness. 

Neither can be found in this place, given by this person. 

“Yes," he lies through his teeth, as well he can around an archangel even more powerful than himself, his own brother. 

“Good. Now there’s not much time left. I will call you when I require it.”

He’s left alone after that, with his own thoughts, his own mistakes, his own choices and sacrifices to make. He knows what he wants, at least he thinks he does, but that something will never be given to him. Partly because he doesn’t deserve it, but also because that something will never feel the same way about him. Especially not after what he’s done. 

He sighs, loudly, not caring who hears, who makes an attempt to dive into his mind and read what’s written there. 

He must obey now, obey his brother or it will mean the end of his life, the end of the Winchester boys’ lives. 

But something inside him is telling him to disobey, he never has been a follower. A small piece inside, growing larger by the moment, is telling him to go with where his grace and instincts lead him. To fess up to his mistakes, apologize, do something he’s not known for doing.

He knows what he wants, now the only challenge is wondering just how he’ll get it. 

 

Dean has the strangest taste in his mouth when he awakens, it’s indescribable, a mixture of blood and honey and cotton candy and… dirt. 

Not to mention he feels off.

The sheets around him are warm, too warm, and before he even looks down he knows just what they are. He feels the silk beneath his fingers, clutches it for a moment to enable it to ground him. And surprisingly, he’s isn’t freaked out that they’re there in the slightest. They’re a comfort to him now. A much needed comfort after the horrors of last night.   
He honestly doesn’t know if it was Sam or Gabriel. Kinda doesn’t want to know. 

He drops the silk and sits up steadily, thinking for the longest time that something might be wrong with him. But whatever it is he can’t figure it out, and all he can feel is relief because last night was the most peaceful sleep he’s had in forever. 

He can’t see Sam but he can hear him in the other room, typing away at his laptop, probably defying Gabriel again. Yay for him. But Dean can’t bring himself to care, just scrubs a hand across his face and manages to get his feet to respond. It’s a shame to leave that nice warm bed behind, but he’d just about kill right now for a nice hot shower anyway. 

Unfortunately, he’s forgotten about his little incident last night. 

Before anything else can happen he can feel himself falling, heading towards the ground faster than he can blink. He notices Sam in the doorway out of the corner of his eye, but he already knows he’s far enough away that he won’t be able to catch him in time. 

And fuck, this is going to hurt like hell. 

But someone else is holding him before he can even get there. And he dreads this body he’s pressed up against because he knows exactly who it is. But at least he’s not being carried by him, the presence only holding up his entire weight until he can carry it, or at least half of it, on his own again. His legs are really wobbly, but he’s so lucky it doesn’t take him too long to get them back under control enough. 

He looks up to see his brother standing before him, speechless at the figure holding him and looking back and forth between the two, not quite sure what to do. If he tells Gabriel to leave, he’ll drop his brother, but if he doesn’t, Dean will never forgive him, blaming him and saying he’s taking the archangel’s side. Whatever goes through his mind though, Dean always knows Sam will put his big brother’s well-being first. And he’s not sure if he hates that because he really doesn’t feel like being dropped right now. 

“Sam," he groans, he pleads. 

And Sam walks forward with no hesitation, holding out his arms and Gabriel deposits him gently in his grip. Dean’s scared to notice that Sam doesn’t struggle in the slightest, if anything, Dean must be as light as a feather. 

He thought he was getting better. 

Dean holds back the whimper that wants to escape, his belly feels like a fucking freight train crashed into him, “What are you doing here?”

His growl doesn’t affect the archangel in the slightest. Gabriel just stares at him with those huge amber eyes of his. It is very unnerving. 

“I felt your panic and distress, thought I should come before you tore those stitches.”

Dean looks down to see them perfectly in place, no blood pooling beneath him and staining the carpet, no threat of imminent death. Gabriel’s hold on him was tight, but relatively safe and harmless. Sam sighs in relief at the same time as he does. Dean doesn’t even want to imagine the look on his little brother’s face though, suspecting it’s full of conflicting thoughts that can’t be hidden. 

Anyway, Sam must give the archangel a warning glance or something because in the next second Gabriel is backing away as Sam helps him back over to the bed. But as far as worrying about Gabriel goes, Sam doesn’t seem to be quite on that yet, ignoring him for the next few minutes as he checks Dean’s stitches more closely and gives him a clean shirt and some meds. 

Despite the fact that he hates Sam, or anyone for that matter, to hover over him like he’s three years old, he’s really appreciating what his brother is doing now, refusing to leave him alone in the same room as Gabriel. He’d rather have Sam obsess over him than worry about what Gabriel’s gonna do next. 

Though unluckily, it’s the archangel’s voice that is the first to break the uneasy silence, “Are you alright?”

Sam turns around abruptly, “What do you think?”

Dean would almost feel bad for Gabriel, what with the hurt look on his face and every part of him looking like it wants to hover over Dean to make sure he really is alright, if not for the fact that all the pain and misery and insane urges to go crawl up in a hole and sleep for the next ten years, are sick gifts to him and only him, brought by none other than that supposedly concerned archangel. 

Yeah, where was his much needed concern last night?

He wants Gabriel to go away, wants to stop feeling so nervous, like he’s gonna have a panic attack or something. He’s surprised he didn’t take the whole ‘being held by an   
archangel who previously and might still want to kill you’ thing more seriously. Clearly though, Sam hasn’t forgotten a damn thing. 

“Sam, I…”

“Shut up. You shouldn’t even be here. The only reason why I’m even letting you be in the same room with him is because you might have just saved his life.”

“After very nearly taking it," Sam adds, close to tears and looking like he really wants to leave the room, but refusing to for Dean’s sake. 

The eldest is eternally grateful. But of course, that doesn’t cease him from feeling slightly guilty. 

“Sam," he clears his throat a little, “you don’t have to stay.”

He turns back to Dean, “No, no I want to stay. I’ll never leave you alone with this bastard again anyway.”

“Sam…”

“No," he states firmly, “it’s my job to look after you and that’s just what I’m gonna do, make sure my big brother’s okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You haven’t been fine for months, Dean. Years even.”

Dean uneasily glances over at Gabriel, “Do we have to talk about this now?”

“Yes, Dean, you were getting better and now you’re… and he ruined that, he was the one who took that, you away from me.” He shakes his head, “I’m not gonna let that slide.”

Gabriel is silent throughout this all, merely observing and Dean wants to know if there’s anything he wants to say, any further input pertaining to all the misery they’ve been forced to put up with. Dean’s been digging himself a hole, and a deep one at that, and as much as he doesn’t want to believe it the archangel’s been the one attempting to push him down into that hole.

Though as much as he wants to, craves to, he can’t hate him. 

Sam turns back to Gabriel, “So, what do you have to say for yourself?”

He tries to walk closer but his little brother won’t allow him, “Stay where you are.” He moves closer to Dean, protecting him, “I don’t trust you.”

A flash of something unreadable travels its way across Gabriel’s face and Dean would give anything to get inside his mind, to figure out what it is specifically. Though he recovers quickly, looking back into Dean’s eyes before shyly, _shyly?_ turning them back towards Sam’s. 

“I’d like to speak with your brother alone.”

“Not gonna happen.”

It’s pretty clear to Dean that his little brother won’t budge, but that doesn’t mean he won’t try anyway. He’s more than just curious to hear what the archangel has to say, after all, he’s willing to risk his own life again to do just that. 

“Sam…”

Sam stares at Gabriel when he answers his brother, “I said no.”

Dean feels like a two year old again, he shouldn’t have to be asking Sam’s permission for anything. But here he is, on the verge of begging Sam to let him talk to Gabriel alone. He’s in pain and surprisingly he doesn’t want to sleep, still wants to go through with this. What the hell is wrong with him?

“I want to.”

His brother looks over at him in disbelief, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah," Dean nods a little, no, a lot nervously. 

He swallows a few times, gulps is more like it, as he stares up at Sam to confirm that that’s what he really wants. 

Sam nods after a few more seconds and pats his knee in reassurance before leaving, “I’ll be in the next room.”

Dean knows his little brother wouldn’t leave him for anything.

And as soon as Sammy closes the door behind him, Dean is on Gabriel faster than he guesses the archangel could have expected. 

“Dean…”

“Save it. I don’t want to hear anything coming out of your mouth.”

The archangel raises his eyebrows a little at him but doesn’t say anything. Score one for Dean Winchester. 

“I want to know what the fuck your problem is.”

He knows he shouldn’t be demanding Gabriel of anything, for fear of what he could still do to him. But Gabriel seems harmless now, more protective of him than anything. And it’s because of this that when the archangel walks up to him, bends down on the floor not even five inches away from him, that he allows it. 

That’s not to say he isn’t shaking a little, a lot, but he trusts Gabriel right now for no apparent reason, for a stupid, foolish reason more like it. He’s putting his own life into Gabriel’s hands… again. 

“You know I didn’t mean that. I just wasn’t myself and I…” 

Gabriel looks down at Dean’s bare feet, seeming to be afraid to stare into his eyes, his own filled with shame. 

At least, that’s what the eldest hopes for. 

“…I apologize.”

“Didn’t think you wanted to kill me so much.”

“Dean, I…”

“No, it’s okay," Dean murmurs nearly soundlessly, “I know it wasn’t you. When you came back down, that was you.”

Gabriel finally looks back up at him, wishing and hoping that Dean does and doesn’t say another word. One more word from his mouth is all that he needs. Then again, it’s most likely to be the death of him. 

“Gabriel…”

The archangel’s arms extend out from his sides and wrap around the hunter, tight enough to hammer it into Dean’s head that he won’t hurt him again, but not too tight as to cause him pain. 

And in the midst of their hug, the human doesn’t struggle, doesn’t fight back. He lets Gabriel hold him, for those few seconds, lets him breathe in Dean’s scent and close his eyes and imagine a world where Dean doesn’t have to feel pain, doesn’t have to admit that it hurts to live, hurts to breathe, hurts to be around him. 

The archangel doesn’t breach any territory, no matter how much he may want to. No, he needs to gain Dean’s trust back before he can do any of that. He needs to enable this human to sink deep down inside him, feel safe, warm, loved, protected. 

“Gabriel…,” he tries again, not really that set on getting through to him though. 

“Don’t talk, please. Don’t. Just let me…”

Dean smiles a little.


	5. Behind These Walls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the last chapter has convinced you to keep reading, and thank you if you are going to continue reading. I've bumped up the number of chapters on this, I'm thinking around ten now. This story is basically my heart and soul, I've been working so hard on it and actually don't want to stop writing because I'm getting so into it. Thank you all so much for your lovely reviews, I really appreciate them. As you can guess, things are only going to get more intense, and I hope you enjoy the emotional and physical roller coaster ride. Here is Chapter 5…  
> Song Featured: The chapter title and lyrics are from Tiamat's "Will They Come?".

_~Do these mornings ever come?_  
Will we ever see these days again?  
And can we speed it up again  
Watch it really slow?  
Can we run it backwards?  
Maybe just one more time?~ 

Sam doesn’t know what he’s supposed to think, supposed to feel, supposed to do. There’s a huge piece of him, one that he has fought tooth and nail to hide from both his brother and the mysterious archangel, that secretly wants this. Wants his brother to be comfortable, feel safe around the archangel. Needs him to be happy around Gabriel.

And no matter how much he tells himself not to, no matter how much he wants to hate Gabriel, he can’t. Because the sight before his eyes is mesmerizing and beautiful. An archangel embracing his brother, as if the only thing he’ll ever be concerned with is making sure Dean is okay. 

He’s seen, watched Gabriel fingers curl up and retreat whenever his big brother is around. Has seen him reach for him hesitantly only to pull away. He’s noticed Gabriel’s eyes automatically shift over to him, gluing onto him and seeming to look inside his soul. And maybe that’s part of the reason why he’s kept Gabriel around, trusted him, because the way he looks at his only brother is so gentle, so loving it twists his heart so fiercely that it comes near to bursting with hidden glee and longing.

Sam knows, he fears, that there may be something more here, something that’s frightening and beautiful. And the way Dean lets him hold him, nearly gives himself over in a boneless heap to the archangel that nearly ended his life yesterday, shocks the youngest brother to the core. And suddenly, he feels his trust crawling back to him. 

As Gabriel looks up, catching Sam’s unsure gaze as he eavesdrops and watches from the doorway, as the youngest Winchester sees a smile form across his face, sinking into his eyes comfortably as he hugs Dean harder, more passionately, Sam knows he’s here to stay. 

That all is forgiven. 

 

Dean closes his eyes, let’s himself collapse into Gabriel, who is more than willing to hold him upright. And it’s like he can read his mind, knows that the archangel doesn’t want to let him go. And in a way, he doesn’t want to be released either. 

But there comes a point when a man needs to be able to breathe properly, to not feel like he’s suffocating, like the pressure is rising and rising. And no matter how warm and comforting Gabriel’s arms may indeed be, he also needs his pride and dignity back before Sam realizes he’s let his guard down. Turned into a whimpering little girl. 

He doesn’t know why he gave away this simple little thing that actually means so much more to Gabriel, doesn’t understand why he’s not just giving a gift but receiving one as well. Because he doesn’t want to hate Gabriel, wants to be held by him, to let Gabriel take away all the pressure and pain and misery that he had to go to bed with last night. He doesn’t miss the silk sheets because his arms are wrapped around him, keeping him warm and safe and strangely happy. 

Dean wonders if this means that he forgives him. That voice in his mind is telling him that Gabriel shouldn’t be forgiven so soon, maybe not at all because of the horrific thing that was enacted upon his body and soul last night. And then there’s his heart, screaming at him to take a chance, to sink down into the presence who apparently ceases to have anything else to do at the moment but cradle him, stroke his back and the side of his head. 

_Just let me…_

The words mean something, he knows, and as he tries to make all the tiny little pieces fit he hears the archangel’s soothing words, whispered into his throbbing ear, drag him back down to reality. And surprisingly, reality isn’t as bad with Gabriel here as he assumed it would be. 

“It’s gonna be fine. You’re safe. You’re safe with me.”

Dean opens his eyes, focuses on the way the two of them, human and archangel, seem to melt into each other perfectly. The pressure he exerts on his frail body, never becoming more than he can handle, his hands sliding up and down his arms, his warm breath in his ear, his arm wrapping steadily around his waist to hold him more upright, to ensure he doesn’t slip off the bed to the ground. Because right now, he has no control whatsoever over his body or his mind. 

His body tenses up for a moment, thinking about what the hell he’s allowing Gabriel to do to him, about what this all actually means, but as the figure nuzzles into his neck he continues his descent down into him once more, startling Gabriel a bit when he’s forced to support all his weight. 

“You alright?”

Dean nods slowly, tiredly, he’s utterly exhausted and not afraid to show it, to be more than vulnerable around the archangel who could easily crush him like he nearly did last night. He bites down on his lip, suppressing a moan which makes it out seconds later as the pain starts up in his belly again and floats up towards his head, sending him a splitting headache. And he can feel, can feel Gabriel’s panic by the way the hold on him becomes that much tighter, his grace ebbing into his body hesitantly and keeping him more at ease. 

And suddenly he’s shaking as Gabriel retreats, as his blessed warmth and grace leaves him to fend for himself. And he can’t stop shaking, even though he’s gaining control again little by little, preventing him from slipping off the bed and rushing back into Gabriel’s arms. He doesn’t want to admit that he needs him, needs that peace of mind that he no longer can live without. And Dean Winchester is lucky because he doesn’t have to say a damn thing, the archangel’s arms surround him once more, envelope him before he makes himself push away. 

Gabriel stares at him, startled, watching him closely to make sure he won’t break down or collapse or do something potentially worse than either of those two. 

“I can’t," Dean gasps out because this is wrong, he isn’t like this, so vulnerable, so unsure, so fucking desperate for him it’s painful. 

Gabriel doesn’t say anything, his face may show a little disappointment but other than that there is nothing to put Dean on edge. And the human can’t thank him enough for that.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, Dean," the archangel shakes his head clearly, making sure the human sees that, “there is nothing to be sorry for.”

Dean turns away, looking back seconds later to find his eyes still on him, staring deep down into his soul. It’s comfortable. 

“I’m the one who’s sorry.”

Dean doesn’t want to have a fight on who’s sorrier, as far as he’s concerned they’re both to blame and they just need to get on with the more pressing matters at hand. But this may just be about the only time he’ll get to see Gabriel like this, defeated and apologetic and it’s more beautiful than he could have ever imagined. So he’ll let it slide. 

“I’m sorry I hit you.”

“Probably deserved it," Dean says, biting back tears, not wanting to relive exactly what happened but being forced to anyway. 

“You didn’t deserve it," Gabriel bends his head down, catching Dean’s gaze, which he lifts back up to look at him more clearly, “you never will.”

Dean looks away again, finding the archangel’s gaze to be too penetrating, too perfect. But Gabriel’s hands slips under his chin before he can blink, lifting his head back up to catch his gaze again. And suddenly, he wants to sink into him over and over and over. 

“Gabriel?” The archangel’s hand retreats after making sure Dean won’t look away again.

Dean licks his lips and continues, “Why aren’t you distanced from us? I mean, you’re always around. Why do you care so much?”

It’s something Dean’s wanted to ask for days, the questions slamming into his brain for hours on end giving him no rest and no reprieve. It’s something he’s been too scared to ask, afraid that he doesn’t want to know the answer after all. The real reason why Gabriel seems to be around him when he least expects him. Exactly when he needs him the most. 

The human’s calls out to him have never been in vain, the pleading in his eyes, the pain and misery have never been invisible to Gabriel, he’s never been oblivious to how much Dean needs him, always giving in, always there when the chill and numbness becomes too much. Always there when he’s terrified to be alone. 

And Dean forgives Gabriel, he really does. After everything he forgives him because he so much wants him to stay. Dean can’t do this alone, even with Sam it’s not enough. 

“Do you want me to be distanced from you?” Gabriel asks so softly it’s barely heard. 

And for a second there, it almost looks like the archangel is about to cry before he cuts away the tension and worry, “No, not really.”

Gabriel smiles a tiny bit at that, “Dean, I didn’t want you to get involved in this. But you already were. You’re the target. But I want you to know I’m not gonna let him take you. I promise.”

His words hit Dean hard, like a jackhammer to the head. And suddenly he can’t breathe, he feels like he’s going to have a panic attack. 

“Breathe, Dean.”

He can feel his hands on him again, soothing him back into a calmer state, stroking everywhere he can reach except his belly, which is throbbing again. And so… he just breathes as he holds onto Gabriel like he’s the only lifeline he’ll ever get, ever deserve. And the archangel holds him, tells him to breathe, looks up at Sam’s relieved eyes. Gabriel smiles and places his head back next to Dean’s. 

“Dean?”

His gaze slides back up to him after Gabriel lets him go, he didn’t even realize he had been looking away. He can breathe again, can see Gabriel clearly, the way his concern never seems to fade, never seems to be misplaced. He wonders just how much a mere human, he, means to an almighty archangel. 

_I’m not gonna let him take you. I promise._

“I believe you.”

Dean hears a noise near the doorway, whipping his head around to find nothing there. Before he can go to explore, confirm Sam is still in the kitchen making him breakfast, Gabriel’s hand is on his shoulder and directing him back towards him. 

“I’m sorry I said those things.” Dean doesn’t know why, but there’s something about Gabriel that just makes him feel so guilty. 

“You were right, about everything. Maybe that’s why I hate you so much, because you’re always right.”

_I’m always wrong you mean. I just can’t ever seem to keep my mouth shut. And I hurt the ones I love because I can’t… can’t seem to hold it together._

Dean scoffs, “Hardly.”

“No, it’s true. You always got me, Dean. You were the only person who ever understood me.”

“You can’t give me that much credit, Gabriel. I’m a human. Not you.”

“I’m more human than you would believe, Dean. I have so many flaws, made so many mistakes…”

He jumps in because he can’t stand to see the archangel like this, so broken and defeated and feeling sorry for himself. He wants him to know he cares, even though he’s Dean freaking Winchester and hasn’t been shown to care much about anything except his baby brother. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Gabriel. Sure, you may get mixed up at times with where your loyalties lie. But so do I. It doesn’t mean anything, the only thing you should give a rat’s ass about is where you end up, who you let down and who you save.”

He means every single goddamn word he says, wants to drill it into Gabriel’s head because it’s something he needs to understand. Something they both need to remember. And he knows he’s gotten through to Gabriel when he scoots closer to him, looking like he’s about ready to wrap his arms around him again. Dean thinks he’s pretty much hugged out for the day though. 

And then Dean smiles, thinking of earlier, of the fact that Gabriel never fails to impress. Never fails to refuse to disappoint him and leave him out in the cold. 

“When I woke up this morning I found those damn silk sheets. Did you do that?”

Gabriel smirks, “What do you think?”

_I knew it._

“Thanks. They were warm," Dean smiles wider, remembering the way they felt on his aching body, cocooning him in their Gabriel-like warmth. 

“No need to thank me, Dean. I’m always right here.”

“Always?” Dean asks hesitantly. 

Gabriel grabs him and hugs him harder than ever before, taking the breath out of him. 

“Always," he repeats after him, nuzzling into his neck a little once more. 

Dean finds he doesn’t mind all too much. And he falls asleep in a peaceful state instantly, just at the beyond beautiful sound of that last word. 

 

“What the hell do you mean by ‘I don’t know how to kill him’?”

Gabriel almost starts to look apologetic before Sam realizes it doesn’t mean a damn thing as the words hit home. 

“Wait a minute," Sam holds up a hand and inches closer, forcing Gabriel’s full attention on him. “I thought you said you knew everything there is to know, that’s why we’re not supposed to be researching?”

Gabriel chooses that specific moment, of all available moments, to not utter a single goddamn word. And Sam swears he feels like the Hulk right about now, ready to explode, ready to push Gabriel as hard as he can, he deserves as much for doing it to his brother, and finding out exactly what he knows and what he doesn’t. And just as he’s about to do that, start up a confrontation, of course there’s only one thing that will ever stop him in his tracks. 

“Sam…”

Dean stands up from his restless position in a chair, wincing as the movement jars his stitches. Sam pushes him back down gently, eyeing his stomach in nothing more than concern. Gabriel tries to hide the fact that he took a step forward, but it’s all too obvious to Sam by the look in his eyes that screams out ‘I desperately want to hold him’. 

His elder brother looks like he’s grateful to Sam, sinking back down into the chair and watching Gabriel. Sam tries not to think any more on how weird all of this is, the look Dean gave the archangel moments before that said something like ‘I’m fine, worry about the other matter at hand’. 

Sam does want to contradict Dean though, almost force him to allow Gabriel to take care of him, knock him out since the pain doesn’t seem to be going away. And Sam’s highly suspicious on how much sleep his brother exactly got last night, is completely convinced he needs more, that if he has to deal with anything else on his plate he’ll go into a nervous breakdown or something. But he also knows how mad Dean gets, how mad he will get if he continues to be left out of their little discussion, so as long as Dean is awake and not doubling over in pain he’ll shut his mouth, as hard as it may be, and focus back on what they really need to deal with at the moment. 

“Gabriel, if you keep us in the dark, it’s pretty clear we’re not gonna get anywhere.”

He has been researching because he’s not gonna listen to everything Gabriel says, but he’s only more angry at how little he knows, how little he was able to find. Gabriel lived inside Loki for who knows how long, so how is it possible that he doesn’t know how to kill him?

When he escapes from the confines of his own head and looks once more at Gabriel, he sees him glancing over at Dean, whose face is paler than Sam remembers, eyes closed and breaths coming out in short pants, his body shaking a little with the exertion it takes to remain upright in the chair. 

Sam continues talking to Gabriel, knowing his voice will calm Dean down and soothe him into sleep. But then Dean’s eyes open back up and all hope is lost. 

“What do you suggest we do?”

Clearly, Gabriel seems more worried over Dean at this point than anything else. And he should be, for whatever true damage he’s done has Gabriel’s name written all over it in blood. But however strong these urges are he doesn’t give in, doesn’t throw his concern over to Dean and if Sam wasn’t paying close enough attention, he’d hardly even notice. 

But he is paying close attention, and he wonders if the only reason why the archangel isn’t stepping in is because he’s waiting for Sam to give the okay. 

“Keep researching.” Dean breathes out, “Unless you know of any other angels willing to help us.”

Gabriel turns back to Sam with guilt written all over his face, Sam suddenly feels sick to his stomach. With Dean’s words and the pitiful way in which he says them, it’s pretty freaking clear they’ve pretty much reached a dead end. But the Winchester brothers don’t quit, not even when one is as good as down. 

“Come on," Sam moves nearer to Dean, more than prepared to pick his big brother up, who literally weighs nothing, and carry him off to bed no matter his protests, “let’s get you to bed.”

“Sam…”

“Now, Dean," he says forcefully, not even counting on Gabriel for support. 

He’s prepared to do this on his own, he’s looked after his brother for years now and he won’t let anything stand in his way. And as soon as he’s settled Dean comfortably in his grip, his brother’s arm around his shoulders and his body leaning heavily onto Sam’s, the younger brother sees the archangel back off, knows this is for Sam to deal with. He merely steps aside as Sam leads Dean through the bedroom door, watching and waiting until Sam gets his brother settled on the bed. 

Dean’s eyes are closing within seconds, hands holding onto the silk sheets as Sam draws them up to his neck, taking one long last look at his exhausted brother before quietly ruffling his hair and walking away, giving Gabriel a meaningful glance before heading out of the room. 

The archangel looks over at Dean, watching him turn onto his right side, “Get some sleep, Dean. We’ll be in the other room, okay?”

Gabriel sees Dean’s light nod before he follows Sam. As much as he wants to go over and comfort Dean, he knows it’s not his place right now. The youngest needs to talk and the eldest needs to sleep. He’s the one caught in the middle of it all. 

And as soon as he follows Sam into the kitchen, like many a time before, Sam is on him instantly. 

“What’s wrong with him?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why isn’t he getting better? I mean, I know the beating you gave him was pretty rough, but he shouldn’t be this much down for the count.”

Gabriel sighs lowly, wishing to back away from the conversation topic, “My grace won’t allow me to heal him. And he’s suffering from the lack of it.”

“Why does he need it though? Can’t he just heal like any other human?”

“My grace is specifically latching onto him. I’m afraid I don’t know much about this, Sam. This hasn’t exactly happened before.”

_It has chosen Dean’s soul._

_His grace has chosen Dean._

In his head, those words feel so wrong and once they pour out of his mouth, there is fear and regret. Because if his grace latches onto the human’s continuously what exactly does that mean? He isn’t lying when he says he’s never experienced this before, his grace pulls him so strongly to Dean it’s unbelievable. It’s something he’s not sure he’ll ever understand. 

“What are you talking about?” Sam asks and even though he knows, fears what it does really mean, all he hears is a pained and desperate scream coming from the bedroom. 

Coming from Dean’s bedroom. 

“Dean!” 

His feet start to move as if they’re separate entities, detached from every other part of him yet feeling just as frantic as everything else, merely acting on it in lightning speed. For the first time Sam can’t imagine the distance between him and his brother could be any longer. He’s running yet he doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere, and it doesn’t really matter because he knew as soon as he heard the scream that he wouldn’t make it in time. 

_Goddamn it! Why didn’t I stay with him?_

By the time he reaches the room Gabriel is already there, clutching the fallen sheets as if by sheer will he’ll force them to bring his Dean back. But Dean’s not coming back. He’s gone. 

And as tears fall from the broken archangel eyes, onto his cheeks and into the sheets, Sam knows they’re gonna have a hell of a time getting him back. 

 

“What do you think you’re doing!” 

He hits him hard as Dean cowers against the wall, and when that wall disappears he turns to the cold ground for protection. He tries hard to shield his vulnerable and still healing body with his arms, but it’s no use, Loki always seems to hit home anyway. 

_Gabriel… Gabriel please…_

His body is shaking with fear but there’s something new this time, anger. He’s sick of the Shadowman taking advantage of him, pushing him around, trying to tell him who to trust and who to betray. He honestly doesn’t give a shit that Gabriel did those things to him, he’s forgiven him completely because he’s shown Dean what it means to feel protected, cared for, loved. And Dean hopes that he’ll make it back in time to make it up to that damn archangel. 

“You will care, Dean. Oh, believe me. You will care.”

Dean groans as he pushes himself up, amazed he can stand without the support of a wall as he looks Loki straight in the eye, trying to give off menace, rage, something. But none of these things stir the monster for an instant and the human truly starts believing that this is the end. There’s no way out, no way of Gabriel ever finding him. And maybe it’s time to take matters into his own hands. 

“Look at you, Dean. You’re finally standing up for yourself, becoming my true mate.”

“I will never," he spits, “be your mate.”

Loki growls, “You test my patience, you forget I could turn you into a bloody pulp within moments.”

“I don’t give a shit. This is what gets you off, bullying and becoming a fucking freak?”

Loki doesn’t throw him against a wall as he normally does, which is surprising due to those last few words, instead he glares at Dean, willing him on. All Dean can do is grin and give himself another point. He’ll dare to think for just a brief moment that he’s actually winning. 

“You think this is a game, Dean Winchester? Cause we’re not exactly done playing my own.”

“Certainly feels like it to me. Why don’t you just beat around the bush and do what you will to me?”

Loki’s eyes lit up for a moment and in that moment all Dean feels is fear. But it doesn’t last for long, soon he can feel himself pushing towards the Shadowman, getting up in his face to prove that he is a more than worthy opponent. Loki isn’t having his way with him without him doing something about it first. 

“Test me," he dares him, all too prepared for him to make a move, as if this were as simple as the two of them being mere pieces on a torn up chessboard during a trivial game of chess. 

Why couldn’t things ever be that easy?

“You’ll see, Dean. You’ll realize it when Gabriel doesn’t come for you, when he leaves you lying here, watching you get beat down like a dog.”

“I don’t think you’re ready for that yet. After all, you’re still Lucifer’s little bitch.”

“How much more do you think I’ll take, Dean? Before I break every bone and snap every vein?”

A surge of confidence swells its way through every inch of the human, “I think you’re gonna let me go.”

Loki’s eyebrows rise in shock and he chuckles low and maliciously for a few seconds, Dean wanting him to hurry the fuck up before he utters, “Oh really? I’m guessing you underestimate how much I really want you.”

“For your own fucked up purposes. But I’m not yours to claim, monster.”

“Ah," the Shadowman smirks, “but you are.” 

He walks around Dean in close knit circles. 

Dean’s entire form is tingling fearfully yet with curious anticipation in a horrific way, as he watches him and hates him and is about ready to punch him in his wicked face, “Gabriel has yet to claim you. Yet even if he did," he strokes under Dean’s neck with his middle finger, “I would still go all the way for your soul.”

Dean backs away, wondering what he means by Gabriel having yet to claim him. Probably nothing too good.

“He loves you, you know that don’t you? His grace latches onto you like a mother latches onto her child, feeling the urge to protect it from all the evils of the world. My second-half hasn’t realized this yet, but I think he’s growing pretty close to having the realization. If you’ve even paid attention for a second, seen the way he looks at you, then maybe you wouldn’t be stupid enough to be as oblivious as you are.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say, all his words blend together and rock back and forth violently throughout his head. He doesn’t know whether to believe Loki or not, because honestly, he has noticed the way the archangel’s been looking at him. And it scares him to death, makes him want more for some reason. 

Loki’s finally been the one to put all the pieces together, into a startling and scary realization. 

“Aww, Dean has a secret lover. How sweet.”

He closes his eyes and breathes, “Shut up, you son of a bitch.”

Before he can even realize what he’s doing, he’s grabbing the Shadowman by his black hooded coat and slamming him against the nearest wall, digging his nails into the skin of his neck, watching him smirk and it only makes him hate him more, hate the whole situation more. He wants to kill him, for Sammy, for Gabriel, for himself. But there’s no way he’s strong enough for this, there’s no way he’ll make it out alive. 

“Try it, Dean," he breathes into the ravenous human’s ear. “See how far you get.”

Dean looks at him for another minute, eyes lit up in fire that give proof to the rekindled rage in his heart, his lust to protect his family even when all the evidence shows that he, being off his game, will stand no chance at this point in time. He growls and drops the monster. 

“It’s almost time, Dean.”

Dean’s eyebrows knit together in confusion and frustration, he honestly doesn’t know how much more his head and body can take before they both explode into millions of irreparable gooey pieces. 

“Almost time for what?”

The Shadowman starts to disappear, leaving only his whisper as a threat, “Almost time for Gabriel to obey orders and rip your precious soul right out of your body.”

 

“Michael, I thought we had a deal not to meet here?”

“My patience is wearing thin, little brother. It’s been hours since I last called you and if you think not responding will please me," his eyes seem to flash black though Gabriel knows it’s a figment of his twisted imagination, twisted no thanks to Loki, “you may want to think again.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve just been really busy lately.” It’s a huge effort to apologize to him because Gabriel never apologizes, but miraculously he’s able to get the words out decently. 

As much as it rips apart his insides. 

His brother is within inches of him so that he can literally taste his displeasure, his suspicion that was there the last time but has amazingly grown into something so fierce and something so sure that Gabriel’s sure it will manifest into another archangel before them. He’s still holding by the hope that Michael knows nothing, but by the look in his eyes he knows that he knows something is up, that his procrastination in getting Dean back to him means something substantial and maybe even the starting signs of his little brother working against him. 

To Michael, it won’t be too much of a surprise. Gabriel was never one for following rules, especially his brothers’. And considering he’s run away, abandoned them, lived selfishly and never stopped to think about the consequences, Michael is probably thinking right now ‘betrayal’. 

But his big brother doesn’t say anything, simply looks down at him, down on him, crossing the arms of his recently acquired vessel and appearing as nothing more to him than a disappointed father. He hates witnessing disappointment, causing it is another matter entirely. 

If Gabriel screws up now though, if he makes one little mistake, say one word in the absolute wrong way, if Michael’s suspicions get the better of him, Dean is dead. It’s not a possibility, it’s a fact. And he’ll fake anything, go through endless centuries of torment to keep him alive and breathing. 

_It doesn’t matter what you do now, just protect Dean. Do whatever it takes._

“Are you having problems, Gabriel? I thought you told me the human trusted you?”

“He did. He does.” Gabriel hurriedly corrects himself, “Of course he does.”

Michael nods, looking a little more pleased, “Good. So Dean Winchester’s finally been dragged under by heaven’s messenger. You’ll need to lead him to the place we talked about. I’ll take care of everything else.”

Gabriel is beginning to play it all out in his head for the first time, of what exactly he will do, what he will primarily say, just up to the point where he will turn everything, including Michael, on its head. He pushes down the panic, doesn’t have time for it now nor later. He has no goddamn clue what he is doing but he’ll worry about it soon enough.   
He just hopes Dean will trust him when the time comes, when he does manage to get ahold of him once more. 

Michael continues talking and his little brother finds that he cannot stand it, “Dean and only Dean’s soul can restore heaven back to its former glory. I thought you had understood this.”

“I do, brother. Believe me, I do. I just need more time.”

And then he thinks of his captor, Loki. And he hopes Dean’s not hurt, that he’s okay. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he isn’t, if he doesn’t manage to save him from Loki’s clutches only before he must make the struggle to save him from Michael’s. 

“What about Loki? He has him.”

His brother smirks, “You let me worry about Loki. He’ll listen to me.”

Michael’s ego has always astounded him and for a second he fears of what he’ll do to Loki. He doesn’t know who Dean is better off with anymore, but the more he thinks about his big brother’s true intentions, the more he starts to wonder whether Dean is really safer around Loki, who won’t try to kill him by ripping his soul painfully out of his body until Dean is lost into oblivion. 

_Fuck, why am I not doing anything?_

_Because you’ll kill Dean. Eventually you’ll be able to stab your dick brother in the back and everything will be just fine again._

“You know, Gabriel," Michael looks his brother up and down, the youngest cringing as he watches him focus on the space where his precious wings used to be, “if you do this for me, give me Dean, then I’ll be more than willing to give you your wings back. That’s the deal.”

Gabriel quells the lethal shaking bubbling up within him and nods, yelling at himself not to disclose himself, not to relive the pain he felt when they, a vital part of his grace, were torn away from him, the agony when he realized that they were really gone, far worse than the physical. 

_But what’s more important? Them or Dean?_

_Dean. By far._

“We have a deal, Michael," it’s a wonder he can keep his voice from shaking. “I’ll give you Dean by tonight.”

“Good," his brother nods. “I’ll be waiting in burning anticipation.”

_You son of a bitch. How dare you push me into doing this, how dare you even think of touching Dean._

Between Michael and Loki there’s just too much for him to deal with alone, and he knows without a doubt that he’ll have to call upon Sam to help him save his brother. Which is kinda funny, because the second Michael disappears and he turns around to face the door, sensing someone there, he sees him. 

Sees Sam. 

_Shit shit shit shit shit…_

Sam storms into the room and slams the door behind him, advancing upon the archangel so quickly and venomously that Gabriel is soon up against the wall, terrified for his life because Sam’s wrath, what Sam is more than likely to do in the next few seconds, will be the end of him. 

The look on his face is impenetrable and Gabriel knows in that second, that second in which Sam stares him down as the wheels whir and speed up in his head on what he’ll do with his sweet prize, how he’ll get vengeance and protect his brother at the same time, Gabriel knows there’s no turning back, that whatever he has he’ll have to use. Whatever feelings he’s experiencing right now, he’ll have to show to Sam. 

_There is no other way…_

Sam’s words are venom brought forth from the fiercest snake, “You son of a bitch! We trusted you! Dean trusted you!” He said those last three words with extra emphasis, as if they alone would change Gabriel’s outlook on everything. 

And the fact is… they did. The moment Gabriel realized his soul cried out to Dean in the form of love, he started planning his betrayal. Because Dean did change everything. Dean changed him.

“Get out! Get out right now!”

“Sam, stop…”

“Get out, Gabriel! I never want to see your fucking face again. Dean was right, he was right all along.”

“Sam, will you just give me a…”

“I said get the fuck out!”

_And here it goes…_

“I love him, alright! I love Dean! Is that what you wanted to hear, huh? Proof that I would never give Dean over to him, over to anyone. I’d die if I did that. I love him. I love him," Gabriel mumbles the last few words quietly, looking down at the ground, ashamed more than he can say. 

He finally got it off his chest though. He at last confessed. 

The archangel looks back up at Sam to see his mouth hanging open, as he backs away from the wall and Gabriel a little, “Is this some kind of joke?”

_And of course he doesn’t believe him. Why would he?_

“Look at me, Sam," he advances. “I’m a wreck whenever I’m around him, I know you can see it. If you can feel how fast my heart beats, how much I panic because I never know what to say. If you could have seen my tears, how many fell, how burdened and choked up and wrong I feel inside. I have never felt this before, and when I realized…,” he catches his breath, tries not to panic any more than he already is, “…when I realized that my grace was entwining itself with his soul, I knew what that meant.” 

The look of horror on Sam’s face blows him away, so real that all Gabriel wants to do is run away, never look back and never come back, accept the fact that maybe he is being childish, wanting what he cannot have. 

But he hopes against hope that he’ll gain full control over his body, that Sam will see his intentions are good at heart for his brother and that he will not push him away, but rather let him stay and fight and possibly even love Dean. 

Because Sam has to know, has to know how Gabriel really feels. That the words he’s speaking aren’t lies, that they came from that place deep down inside him where his grace is stored, where the love had first formed. He has to know that he is more than prepared to die for Dean, that what’s he saying now, preaching to him now is so hard to get across but he’s getting it across because the youngest Winchester has to, needs to know. 

No more leaving either of them in the dark. 

Gabriel turns away, not able to bear the look on Sam’s face as it is killing him, turning his pure love for Dean into something unimaginable and futile and almost disgusting. 

_What the hell am I even doing?_

The moment he senses Sam inching closer he turns back around to see the look on Sam’s face soften and a hand being held up in the air, inches away from being placed on his own shoulder. 

Gabriel finally relaxes under the beauty of Sam’s trust and realization. Amongst the fact that Sam is okay, with everything. With his own fucked up, ‘get in the way of everything’ feelings. 

Sam doesn’t touch him but he doesn’t move away either, a faint smile crowding over that horrified look and molding it into something resembling an almost happiness. 

“I suspected as much. Archangels aren’t exactly the most truthful though.”

Gabriel laughs a little, sinking down onto Dean’s bed nearby, nearly feeling the human’s long ago warmth and finding strength in it. 

“Dean would have killed me if I did anything to you anyway.”

The archangel looks up at Sam, who continues to speak because Gabriel can find no words to say, no words that express enough after he just confessed all of that. “So, I assume you have a plan," he looks meaningfully at his brother’s bed, the one his brother’s lover is currently resting on. 

Gabriel sighs. Yes, he has a plan, but it’s gonna be far from easy. 

Unfortunately, anything involving Dean ceases to be easy. 

 

“Dean Dean Dean.”

He tries to annoy the voice surrounding him, a pressure equaling walls on all sides crushing him, the one that just won’t shut up, no matter how much he ignores it or wills it away. And not to mention, his nerves are fraying more and more with each word, so he’s coming to the point of not being able to ignore anything anymore. 

Dean wraps his arms around his legs, trying and miserably failing in the effort to comfort himself, to remain calm and patient for someone out there, anyone at all but preferably Sam and Gabriel, to save him, to pick him off this fucking freezing floor and hold him close to their warmth, no matter how much of a baby he’s being. 

And oh, how warm Gabriel’s beautiful hands would feel on him now. 

_Gabriel… If you’re out there… If you can hear me… I hope you have some plan, some way to get out of here…_

“Dean…”

“Leave me the fuck alone," he snarls, staring up at the monster and wanting to will himself to get up and punch him in the face or something.

But’s he weak and exhausted and nearly completely out of hope. Not an exactly pleasing combination. 

“No can do, Deano.”

He sighs and his teeth chatter hard, his body starting to revolt against him and screaming at him to lie down because let’s face it, he’s not getting anywhere and he’s so tired that he could probably sleep for a month. And not to mention his stomach’s throbbing again, the cold is upsetting it and preventing the healing process. 

Shit. 

He’s getting very cold, feeling like he’s been in an icebox for days when in reality it’s only been a few hours. This is his punishment, being taking away from his brother and Gabriel and his blessed warmth. He hates the cold. He really fucking does. 

“This is getting boring.”

“What?” Dean shouts back in anger. 

What is it with his obsessive need to talk and annoy him to death? Dean doesn’t understand why he just stands there, unwilling to do anything but pretend he’s bored but Dean knows he’s just anticipating something. And there’s where the dread lies in the pit of his stomach, when he realizes this, when he can’t help but swallow hard and panic when he has only a vague idea what the Shadowman is anticipating. 

_Gabriel’s supposed betrayal…_

Not that he believes that. He can’t, won’t let himself believe that, even if Loki doesn’t seem to be lying. 

“Waiting, waiting is boring.”

Dean shakes his head in mild disgust, only able to feel it for a few short moments before he worries again. Worries about Sam, who is with Gabriel right now. 

_No, don’t think like that._

But he can’t help it because what else has he to do? It’s either think about this or stupid Loki and his treacherous words or the cold that just seems to be getting colder. 

“Okay temp for you, Dean?”

“Shut up, Loki.”

“Ah," the monster grins, which puts the human even further on edge, “now that’s a lovely word I love to hear from your lips. I do believe it’s the first time.”

Dean growls and curls further into himself, resting his head on his knees, closing his eyes and willing himself away from this dreaded place of shadows and secrets he doesn’t wish to know. Not from Loki anyway. 

“You don’t see it do you?”

“See what?” Dean doesn’t even bother to look up, just stares down at the cold concrete floor and wishes the two would hurry the hell up and save him already. 

“His love for you crumble at the thought of gaining his wings back, of knowing he cannot betray his brother, nor his beloved heaven, which will be brought back to life under the crushing of your soul.”

_Michael?_

Dean shakes his head, “Gabriel wouldn’t do that to me.”

Something he’s disbelieving more and more as each moment passes. 

“Who would you rather be with, Dean? Me, who only wants to keep you here and love you, or him, someone who is willing and ready to throw aside his love for you to feel that pride again, to go back home?”

The human shivers a little, “Just go away.” His voice cracks a little, “Why won’t you just leave me alone?”

“Because, my little human. You deserve to know the truth.”

Dean looks up at him suspiciously, “How do you know so much anyway?”

“Believe me, I have my sources.”

“Like Lucifer?” Dean smirks, his head dropping back down, savoring the moment where he gets to take the both of them down. 

Loki looks at him more closely, “And so it is written that in time, a god will walk alongside a fallen angel, doing his bidding and forming a bond that will transcend the life span of the planet Earth. And an archangel will form an alliance with his brother, sacrificing the wants of their grace in the process. And so a bloody battle will forever shape the Earth, as both struggle to claim what is rightfully theirs, what will save and simultaneously destroy all things that have been and all things that will come to pass.”

Dean stares up at him in complete disbelief and shock, all the words blending together mercilessly but a few of them sticking themselves in his head and repeating over and over.

Words like:

_Alliance_  
Bloody  
Fallen  
Grace  
Bond 

“What the fuck are you saying?”

The trickster comes out of his head, “It’s none of your concern, never will be. These legends," he fingers the wall behind him as if remembering something, “are millennia old, even older. You would cease to understand them.”

“Try me.”

He has nothing better to do anyway. 

“Only moments," a faint smile appears across the god’s face, a smile that chills Dean to the bone. 

“What…”

It’s in that moment that Gabriel shows up, his little brother towing along behind him. 

And it’s in that moment that Sam is sent to the wall and the archangel is lifted up in the air, looking at Dean with such wide eyes that the human can see everything within them, Loki’s truthful words but also the knowledge that he’s here to save him. Here to confess. 

And Dean Winchester feels like the luckiest human on the planet. 

 

“You think it’s gonna work?”

Gabriel’s gaze slides up towards Sam. His arms are crossed, head numb from all these tortuous thoughts he’s been thinking since Loki decided to kidnap Dean. How can he not expect the worse? And even more, how can he justify rescuing Dean if he’s only going to throw him to his ‘hell bent on his own personal goals’ elder brother? His eyes sting with tears and even though Sam is looking at him warily, he still can’t help but feel like he can’t lie. 

He can’t save Dean. Who is he kidding?

The archangel nods, “Yeah, it’ll work.”

Sam looks away and suddenly Gabriel wonders if he trusts him at all. 

 

Gabriel glances around the dreamscape that had all been set up with one purpose and one purpose alone in mind, to lure Dean here, to make it all too easy for Michael to sink his claws into his flesh and take him someplace far away but nonetheless some area of Gabriel’s beloved, long-ago home, to take hold of his soul and grab onto it tight, ripping it out from his body and leaving him curled up and in a broken heap on the ground. 

Unless his brother decides to be careless and does it here, force the human’s beloved archangel to watch and at the same time give away his life for this one mere human that is far more beautiful than all the stars adorning the midnight sky, that a million years of childhood glee with his brothers in heaven could never hope to equal. The thought of being with Dean is far more enticing than gaining his wings back, which still ache and suffer from the sudden onslaught of remembrance and cause of absence his elder brother inflicted on them. 

Gabriel’s wings mean nothing though, nothing at all without having Dean there to admire them, stroke them and kiss them better should he miraculously gain them back. 

His grace’s wants are so strong, so powerful that it’s either pushing Dean away completely or taking hold of him and never letting him go. It was hesitant at first, at the start when it had proven painful to touch Dean without longing and danger screaming across every nerve. Now his grace wants him, and it’s not even that. 

Every part of Gabriel that feels something, aches for something, wants him. Must have him. 

The archangel can hear his screams so perfectly, they’re horrifying and maddening and Gabriel can already feel the onset of tears making their way out of his eyes and down onto his cheeks. He wipes them away before his companion can notice them, though there’s a fat chance of him not knowing they’re real, and resists the insane urge to curl up into a ball on the ground and literally explode from crying or worrying or obsessing over Dean and his well-being. 

Sam’s hand suddenly lands on his shoulder, and that as well as the voice inside his head convincing him that Dean is safe for the time being in Loki’s clutches, not bleeding out or dying because that isn’t what his second half has in mind for him, are the only things that help to ground him, keep him in the here and now and thinking so hard his head already hurts, about how to get Dean out of this situation. Series of situations actually. 

His grace is physically pushing him forward, further into the sepulchral dreamscape adorned everywhere the eye looks with trees that are pure white and bear no leaves, a sky that is a gloomy and unnerving gray. 

Dean… He can’t stop thinking of Dean. 

“This is the place?”

Sam’s small yet determined voice snaps him out of his thoughts, lets his gaze wander back towards him before nodding, looking away as he finally notices the small field where he is to lead Dean, where the grass will be marked forevermore with his blood and tears. 

_Come on, Gabriel. You’re smarter than this. You and you alone can save Dean, you’ve just gotta think._

Sam sighs softly and it does nothing to still Gabriel’s panic or nerves, “Alright, so let’s get to work.”

The youngest Winchester forsakes his place beside him and walks steadily forward, displaying no fear even though the archangel knows it is all Sam is right now, a leaking puddle of frayed nerves, held-back tears for his big brother and shakiness that lies deep in his bones, not planning on coming out… yet anyway.

Gabriel swallows hard, closing his eyes for a brief second before grabbing Sam’s arm, preventing him from walking any further. 

“Let me go.”

“Sam…”

“Let me go!” Sam struggles fiercely in his hold as the archangel fights, more tears trying and eventually succeeding in their need to break through the levee held up tight within his head. 

He doesn’t relinquish his hold though because while Dean may pull on his heartstrings infinitely more than anything, anyone else could, Sam means a hell of a lot to him as well.   
His safety is first priority at the moment because he’s already lost one Winchester and he’ll be damned if he loses another. 

Sam, stubborn like his elder brother, doesn’t give in though, instead he fights harder, tears streaming down his face as he screams with every last breath he has within him. 

“Let me go, Gabriel! I’m gonna rip the son of a bitch apart! You hear me, Michael? I’m gonna tear your eyes out and stuff them down your goddamn throat! Come down here, come here and test me, you fucking prick! I promise you, you’ll pay for this! Let me go! I hate him, I fucking hate him!”

And Gabriel seriously considers having a nervous breakdown right here and now. 

Sam abruptly tumbles into Gabriel’s arms as his body racks with more sobs, forbidding him from keeping himself upright any longer and the archangel takes his weight as he pulls him into his arms, holding him tightly, so tightly as he places his head on top of the human’s, comforting in the only way he knows how. 

“I failed him.” Sam’s voice cracks, “I shouldn’t have left him, Gabe. I should have been there.”

“Shhh. It’s okay, Sam. We’ll get him back. I promise.”

But even his own words sound like lies to him, because how can he comfort Dean’s brother when he can’t even hold himself together? The tears won’t stop for either of them and he doesn’t want them to quite yet anyway. All he does is hold the youngest Winchester tighter, so tightly as he claims him as his own, under his possession, safe. 

He holds him closer and prays to his long absent father that things won’t get any worse than they already are. 

 

He wishes he had his wings back. He wishes he had his fucking wings back. 

Gabriel glances up abruptly at the sound of a twig snapping, sensing something about to come rushing at him. He feels like he’s the smallest being and he hates it, his wings provided him with power and confidence, an extension of not only his grace but also his vibrant personality and now that he doesn’t have them, he’s utterly fucking screwed. 

And he feels so bad, swearing as profusely as he is. Dean really has rubbed off on him. 

But he’s fucking pissed is what he is. Wants to tear his brother’s throat out, even has more reason to because he’s done it before, or at least was about to before Lucifer got a decent and tragic hold on him. At least Lucy didn’t rip his wings off though. Michael, on the other hand, he’ll pay and Gabriel will make sure of it, damn if he’s the youngest. 

Wind rushes at him abruptly and he closes his eyes, better concentrating on the minute sounds around them, wanting to make sure Sam is safe here like Michael promised him he would be. His elder brother is famous for being a liar though, Lucy was better than him in that aspect, except the truth as he saw fit was pretty screwed up if you were to ask Gabriel. 

The feel of Michael’s wings under his hands, crushing them and feeling them crumble to bits within his fingers is the greatest sensation he can think of at this point. Then again, he’d forget all about his vengeance if Dean came into his embrace, if he could hold him and cradle him and just lay one finger on those lush lips…

_Gabriel… My patience is wearing thin…_

He tenses up, looks over at Sam who’s hard at work painting out a sigil in his own blood on the bark of a nearby tree, finishing up the last stroke before Gabriel can feel it, panic and genuine fear raging through his veins and flushing his face with the heat of rage and extreme concern. Sam pulls himself up and the archangel in that second knows, knows they have no time left. 

_Here we go…_

“Shit, Sam. We gotta go. Gotta go right now.”

Sam’s head turns so sharply Gabriel’s shocked he didn’t break his neck, “Why? What’s wrong?”

Everything, everything is wrong. He can’t feel Dean but he knows he is suffering, feels Michael through the wind brushing only so minutely against the trees, across his grace.

His fingers land themselves on Sam’s forehead and the both of them are off, into unknown shadows and darkness so malicious and cold it peels the flesh right off of Gabriel’s vessel. 

He can’t see Dean but he can sense him and something ultimately more evil. 

Gabriel let Michael in the second he touched Sam, in order for his brother to guide him to Loki’s realm, to where Dean is, scared and waiting and all too open for Gabriel’s confession. Why he’s here, why he’s chosen the Winchester brothers over everything else that a year ago he wouldn’t have chosen at all. 

His second half calls and he’s terrified beyond all reckoning. 

 

He breathes fresh life, hears his vessel calling as his grace pieces itself back together, allowing a smile to creep upon his face. 

The angel brushes himself off, glances around him to see several dead angels surrounding him, wings already burning away into crisps. 

He feels like a champion, a king, more than just an angel. He’s powerful. 

The wings folded in upon his back unfold, stretching out to their full length within moments, reveling in the sensation of the wind rushing through his feathers in a calming and cool manner.

The angel steps over his fallen comrades, calls out for Castiel out of habit for a moment before remembering the bastard and wiping his mind clean. 

Who cares who dared to resurrect him… he’s back. Bloody hell, he’s back. 

Balthazar chuckles as his feet find solid ground.

He’s home.


	6. No Way to Elude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you’re still enjoying. This chapter has perhaps been the most fun for me to write so far, it’s really intense and it was also really emotional for me to write. We’ve got a new character, so I hope you’re anticipating what his role will be very soon. Also, I picked this song before writing this chapter and when I finished it I was amazed to find that it actually fits the chapter really well, which is awesome. I’ve expanded this story because I’m having such a blast writing it all, so settle in for the rollercoaster ride this is so suddenly becoming, and I hope you’ll enjoy reading as much as I’ve enjoyed writing. Happy reading!  
> Song Featured: Title of the chapter and lyrics are from Taproot’s “Facepeeler”.

_~So I run_  
The truth is falling  
You’re the one sent to kill me  
It’s so wrong  
That death is haunting  
Now I’m gone to self-inflicting~ 

“Ahh, the little brother and the lover. Welcome welcome. So glad to finally have you here.”

Dean jumps a little at the sudden sound of Loki’s voice and what his words ultimately mean. He’s almost afraid to look up at Gabriel, to give away his conflicting emotions and beg him with his eyes to end this monster who wants him for reasons that cause the Winchester to shiver uncontrollably. 

Nevertheless, his drooping eyes widen instantly and he sits up in shock, blessedly away from the cold concrete of the wall in more than just surprise now that he has a reason to be awake and alert. He’s off his game though, he can tell by the way his hands shake slightly and his mind stirs to life slowly since it’s been turned into mush from dealing with the cold for so long. He’s surprised and not only that, but angry to see Sam here when he shouldn’t be here at all. He should be back at the hotel safe and sound so Dean doesn’t have to concern himself over him when it’s so perfectly clear that he doesn’t have the strength at this point to look after himself. 

He looks at Sam and begs him with his eyes to go back, to go back before it’s too late. His little brother looks decidedly determined though, in full kick ass mode and he’s even holding his own beside Gabriel, who’s so close to him that Dean tries to look at it as enough, a decent form of protection but it isn’t. It isn’t at all. 

Dean jolts upright even more and stands, taking a step forward, not even paying attention to Loki as he watches Sam and Gabriel carefully, begging them to leave one moment and save their own lives, and the next pleading them to save him. He doesn’t want to be here anymore, it’s taking a toll on his mind and soul. Especially his body. 

“I don’t think so.”

Loki doesn’t even turn around as he sends Dean back to the wall with a mere brush of his hand, still standing but smashed tightly up against the agonizingly cold wall once more, breathing hard as the still dropping temperature invades his struggling lungs and crushes them. 

He can’t panic now, Gabriel and Sammy are here and he can’t let them see his panic. He’s Dean fucking Winchester and he doesn’t panic. 

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and just breathes, whimpering a little at Loki’s hold on him growing tighter, causing a speck of black to form at the edge of his vision before the hold decreases a little. He can’t move, not an inch and he can feel sweat beading down the back of his neck even though it’s so fucking cold and he can’t even feel his toes let alone his face. 

“No blacking out on me now, Deano.”

And shit, it sounds like Gabriel but it has to be Loki. Why does it have to sound so much like Gabriel though? It’s fucking painful. 

“Did you happen to bring your brother along, Gabriel? I’m sure he’s not entirely skilled enough to hide in my shadows.”

Dean gulps as well as he is able, eyes starting to droop a little because Loki’s hold on him won’t lessen anymore like it did before. He desperately wants to breathe normally but that’s not reality now, with two sets of eyes trained upon him and switching back to his captor every few moments, he needs to keep himself together even more now. 

“Why don’t you stop lying and tell the human what he needs to know?”

He can’t look at Gabriel after hearing Loki’s words, can’t even glance at him because even though this is the proof he needs to confirm that Loki isn’t Gabriel, that they are two separate entities, he’s also about to find out the ugly truth, of who maybe is worse: Gabriel or Loki? 

And then Loki’s hands slip a little, purposefully of course, so that Dean is still up against the wall against his will but can at least breathe like a regular person now. He wants to rub his throat, imagining the deep red marks there but his hands are still restrained at his sides, and his eyes widen now that he knows he won’t be granted unconsciousness. He stares at Sam one last time, whose look is pitiful and holding all the forgiveness in the world that Dean needs, before the Shadowman has to go and ruin the last moment he might actually have with his little brother. 

“Look at him, Dean, and you will see the face of a liar, a sinner.”

Dean swallows thickly and wants to cry because Gabriel is supposed to be the good guy, he knows he is, yet Loki is about to crush all his beliefs, everything he’s worked so hard to convince himself to believe. He’s about to snuff out the only hope of rescue and trust he actually has, to prove everything he once knew wrong, to destroy Gabriel before his eyes and maybe Dean won’t be sad in seeing it, after he hears the truth. 

He commands, “Look, Dean.”

Loki takes control of Dean’s head, not moving an inch from his position, half enshrouded in shadows before the only two people in the world the eldest cares about, and he makes sure that he’s looking straight into the archangel’s eyes, which Dean can’t read for the life of him. Gabriel looks down at the ground for a moment before looking back up into the human’s eyes, unable to tell whether it was an unwilling or willing enough gesture, and Dean can see something there. 

Shame?

Apology?

The truth that he is not all he seems. Maybe something the Winchester boy should have known all along. 

“Why don’t you tell him, Gabriel? Don’t spare me all the glory after all.”

Dean can feel a tear slipping down his cheek and Loki releases him again so his head can drop down towards his chest, numb from the cold, mind already aching enough that he doesn’t need to hear the inevitable truth. 

Then he can hear his little brother’s beautiful voice, brimming with welled up tears and holding back such desperation that he wonders if Sam knows, “It’s not what you think, Dean. It’s…”

“Shut up.”

Loki grabs Sam by the throat with a swipe of his hand, closing it permanently before his eyes flash pure black with such malice, such glee that it sickens Dean to the very core.

“Don’t touch him," Dean growls, adrenaline surging up within him and a certain fierceness which he had deemed long gone urging him to act. 

It doesn’t do much good though, he’s not exactly in control of his limbs at this point, and neither is Sam, who’s being held against the wall opposite him, eyes seeming about to bulge right out of his head and Dean can’t help but cry because he can’t match that look. That everything is turning to hell in a hand basket and Gabriel had them by their tails all along. 

Just a brief flash, brief reminder of the moment Gabriel held him in his arms, seeming so trustworthy and sweet and a presence that lit the flicker of hope within him once more.

But it was all lies. 

All lies. 

And Loki, all Loki does is laugh before his black as death eyes flash back to Gabriel and his less than prideful appearance. He’s slouched in what looks to be shame and can’t even return Dean’s uncertain gaze. He has no idea what the archangel is about to say but if Loki’s about to give him the truth, however twisted it may be, he’ll accept because this may be the only way he’ll get it. 

“Well, I’m not gonna wait all day," Loki glances at Dean momentarily, making sure he’s paying attention before turning back to the spitting image of him, a twin that may even be crueler than his own ways and means, “I’m sure you’ve been smart enough to figure out there’s no way he could have pieced his vessel back together on his own. Or even returned back to earth without his wings with no assistance. No," he smirks at the archangel, “Gabriel hasn’t exactly been truthful about much except that Dean’s his charge.”

Dean gasps as his eyebrows raise, a million thoughts roiling around in his head, fighting to reach the forefront of all his time and ponderings. 

So that was it then, Gabriel never really gave a damn about him, he was his assignment. Whether he liked it or not. 

“And of course.” Loki smiles wickedly, “He didn’t seem to mention that little tidbit either.” 

“Stop," Gabriel says so softly that Dean can barely hear him, and this only causes the eldest to glance across the small room at him more carefully, suspiciously, not even looking towards Sam to see if he knows because he’s so intrigued. 

“Is it true, Gabriel?” He manages to gasp out, “So I’m just a job to you?”

“No," the archangel’s gaze flickers up to his own but Dean turns away, not able to face the being who seemed to care so much, but actually cared so little, “you were never that, Dean. You were always so much more. Please, you have to…”

“That’s enough," Loki’s voice rises in intensity, though not sealing Gabriel’s mouth shut causes the human to wonder if it’s just because the Shadowman doesn’t have the ability. "Only the truth is valuable now. None of your worthless pleas.”

Dean still knows Gabriel begs him with his vibrant golden eyes, that doesn’t mean he looks over at them though. The ground is just as worthy for his undivided attention. 

“Michael sent him here to collect you, Dean. To kill you.”

“Don’t," Gabriel warns, though it sounds more like a plea to Dean’s ears. 

Loki only smiles and continues on, “And now he’s here, Dean. Here to rescue you and then throw you to his dog of a brother. Tell me, where would you rather be now?”

The trickster drops Dean so suddenly that he falls right on his ass, though he figures he would have been too weak enough anyway to manage to gather himself into an upright position. He slumps against the wall, a few tears streaking down his face, longing to feel the archangel’s warmth again but forbidding it. The next time he’ll ever feel it will be the last breath he’ll ever take, last thought he’ll ever think. 

Sam drops down across from him as well and makes an immediate move to make it over to his brother, which the Shadowman surprisingly allows. 

“M’ fine, Sam.”

His only brother wraps an arm around his waist anyway, pulling him up slowly and staring into his eyes for some brotherly reassurance that he’s safe now before looking up at Loki to see what will happen next. The eldest honestly doesn’t care, as long as he’s alive and Sam’s relatively unscathed, he just wants to get out of here and leave Gabriel for Loki to do whatever he will to him. 

“So tell me, Gabriel," Loki’s gaze is entirely trained upon his twin, seeming to forget all about the two humans who hang back hesitantly, unsure of what to do in the face of what they’re about to witness. “Where is Michael?”

The archangel’s hands clench into fists as he takes a step closer to the maliciously grinning trickster. Then he completely ignores him, glancing over at Sam and Dean, nodding at the former which only causes the latter to glance up at him curiously, suddenly realizing that Sam probably knows infinitely more than he’s gleaned from Loki himself in these few short minutes. His little brother nods back and then both Dean and Gabriel crash into each other, their eyes anyway, the archangel trying to tell him something but honestly Dean’s too uncaring at this point, only anticipating what’s to become of all of them. 

The elder brother can’t deny it though, the impact Gabriel’s gaze has on him, the words, the point that he’s trying to get across with everything he has in him, maybe something that Dean’s suspected all along but has been far too blind to notice…

Loki said it himself, that he had feelings for him, despite his position and his mission. 

And Dean’s been experiencing this underlying feeling all along, that it’s not so farfetched, that his own adoration for the archangel’s warmth makes something known, open up within him. 

Gabriel mouths what looks to be the words ‘I love you’ before Dean’s world is thrown deeper into the shadows.

 

“Dean," Sam’s voice is in his ear, begging him, pleading him to listen when Dean just wants to be done with this all, accept the truth because his head has been filled with so many lies, just let Loki and Gabriel finish themselves off so he and Sammy can be done with all this bullshit. 

Sam doesn’t quit though, if anything he’s a persistent son of a bitch. Should be, he has learned from the best. 

“It’s not what you think. Gabriel turned his back, he…”

Dean raises a hand to silence him and pushes Sam away, who reaches for him again but Dean glares at him to stay away, that he’s fine and perfectly able of standing on his own.  
Now that he has a reason to. He doesn’t look back at Sam, the expression on his face will no doubt make him rethink this, turn back and collapse into his open arms, which he should be doing because as far as he’s concerned, he’s too spent to be standing up and determined at this point. 

There is deafening silence in his ears even though he can see Loki’s lips move the second his eyes land upon him. The Shadowman is none of his concern now though, his set of eyes become trained upon the figure that is Gabriel, looking far different than the trickster, his own eyes golden and wide with compassion and confusion. 

Dean doesn’t stop walking, though his feet are slightly wobbly, doesn’t alter his gaze until Gabriel stands not even a foot away from him, staring so deeply into his eyes that Dean wonders if he could even read the truth or a lie in them. Can even…

“Tell me the truth. Everything you did, was it for me?”

Gabriel shakes his head in regret, “No.”

Dean breathes. 

“Am I your charge?”

“Yes.”

He closes his eyes. 

“Do you…?”

“I care about you.”

Dean’s eyes open again and he stops breathing momentarily, waiting to see when, _if_ he’s finished or not. 

There’s a flicker in Gabriel’s eyes and Dean draws strength from it, lets his heart beat for it and it alone. 

“Are you going to kill me?”

“No," Gabriel shakes his head, leans a teeny bit closer to his charge, “not the person I lo…”

It’s in that moment that Loki delivers a near fatal blow with his fist to Gabriel’s face. It’s enough to crush a human’s head into a bloody pulp, crack it like an egg, enough to startle the archangel completely and send him crashing towards the concrete ground, hand flying instinctively to his face and cradling it. 

Dean flinches as Loki’s fist is about to connect with his own face, until there’s a blinding white light and that’s all that he remembers seeing. 

Sammy…

 

The eldest’s eyes flip open he doesn’t how long after, though he’s getting a pretty good idea that it hasn’t been more than a few moments by the way that he’s still not back in his hotel room, doesn’t feel particularly safer and given that Gabriel isn’t hovering above him by the time his eyes do manage to open. He’s as exhausted as he was during the confrontation with Loki, though now that he’s out of that wretched darkness, no shadows in sight, he feels better enough to lift himself up and stare straight up into the eyes of Michael. 

“There you are, was beginning to think I’d never get my hands on you.”

He tries to lie back down because he doesn’t want that archangel’s hands on him, but Michael only picks him up off the ground, none too gently, and stares at him with eyes that smirk at everything he is, laugh at the face of his terror and rage and frantic unease for his and his brother’s life.

“We meet again, Dean.”

He can’t bear to look into those eyes yet he does, wanting to know where he is but unable to look around because in this moment there is nothing in the world other than the overpowering presence of Michael. The vessel isn’t one he recognizes and he’s glad for that, doesn’t need any more emotional trauma than he’s already received. Remembering his father at one of the absolute worst times…

Michael smiles down at him before dropping him back to the ground, his knees impacting with concrete before the ground is quickly converted into grass. He bites his bottom lip to prevent himself from crying out. 

“I said not to change anything. That was part of the deal.”

Dean looks up to see the bearer of that familiar voice, and when his eyes land upon Gabriel they fall back down to the grass again. He can feel heavy lead within his veins, dragging down his heart because he knows this is the last place that he will ever be, the site of his death, the feel of the grass between his fingers the last thing he’ll ever feel, the blue hue of Michael’s current eyes or the golden ones of Gabriel’s will be the last sight he will ever see, depending on whose he picks and believe it from him, not one is better than the other. 

He thinks about crawling away or struggling to get to his feet and making a break for it, but by the looks of things there’s no way out of this place unless he depends upon either of the two archangels, and he highly doubts either of them will release him from their care. He figures Loki’s been left behind in the shadows and it’s good to see him gone but not overwhelmingly great. As a matter of fact, if he had a pick between Loki or Michael and Gabriel, he would most likely pick the Shadowman. Not that he’s being given the choice. 

As agonizing as being around Michael is, Gabriel’s presence here is an entirely different matter because Dean can only think of his betrayal, of such kind eyes that had once looked upon him and hadn’t judged him for a moment, of the warm grace which had enveloped him with no thoughts of doubt or anything other than trust and love and care. Imagine that all crushed in one horrible instant. 

Just try to imagine it… let alone _live_ it. 

Dean would have rather been killed by Gabriel’s hands at the start, would rather have seen malice marking his features instead of those three (care, trust and love). Because it’s harder knowing something, sensing something so strongly and then having it ripped out of your very fingers, having the person look down upon you with such apologetic features that it’s so fucking sickening and all you want to do is crawl up into a ball of nothing and scream and cry yourself into a pulp, grieving all that could have been.  
He wishes he never knew Gabriel’s warm touch, never listened to a word, never allowed hope to overrule him in such a way that he completely doomed him and Sammy. 

And Sam, who knows where he is now? Although Dean is willing to bet that he’s much safer in Loki’s hands than these two monsters. 

Dean wonders if Loki can hear him, will be able to come for him if he prays to that demonic monster that may just be his only hope now. 

_Loki…_

He stares up at Michael from his position on the ground, knees burning but he grits his teeth and bears it. He won’t look at Gabriel, not ever again. 

“Let’s say we get this over with, shall we?”

“Not yet. Not until you give me back what’s mine.”

Dean can’t believe it. 

“So that’s what this is really about," Dean grits out, tasting the bitter saltiness of his blood from where he bit into his lip, “getting your fucking wings back?”

He should have known, shouldn’t have been stupid enough to think for a second that the archangel would choose him above his own wings. Still though, bowing down and doing Michael’s bidding, the same prick who probably snapped his wings off in the first place, not exactly Gabriel’s style. At least, that’s what he thought considering how he went down all those years ago. 

“Gabriel, what the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

And where did Sam come from? The eldest is positive he wasn’t here a moment before, he did look around to make sure. Dean wants to scream out Loki’s name now, to take them both back so they’ll at least have a chance. 

“You promised. You fucking promised!” 

Gabriel flinches and Michael laughs at the expression on Sam’s face, his expression proving Gabriel’s betrayal. 

Dean finally looks up at Sam, wanting to express with a simple nothing look how sorry he is for dragging Sam into all of this, for not being strong enough to kill Gabriel, even Loki when he had chance after fucking chance. He wants to curse himself, end his life by just going with Michael if it’ll keep his little brother alive.

Sam, poor Sam. Being dragged into this along with his big brother, trusting Gabriel and look what good’s come of it. Just because that damn archangel saved them doesn’t mean a thing, the both of them should have recognized his ulterior motives, shouldn’t have trusted him for a second no matter how safe he may have seemed. 

“Sam…”

“It’s okay, Dean”, he looks down at him with such regret in his eyes Dean has to look away and fight to blink back the tears. “They’re not going to take you. I’m not gonna mess up again.”

“Sam…”

“No, Dean. I’m gonna fix this. It’s my fault and I’m gonna fix it.”

_It’s not, Sam. It’ll never be your fault._

Dean is astonished at how his little brother seems to lift himself up even further, not just his spirits and determination but his physical body as well, standing before the two archangels as if he were their equal. 

Hell… superior.

He can’t believe his eyes and as much as he wants to tell him to turn away, or even stand up next to him where he belongs, he can’t do much but lie there, looking up at him because this is truly a sight to see. Dean can’t even begin to fathom the look on Gabriel’s face, shock as well mixed with bullshit apology. It makes Dean want to laugh but he can’t find the will to, so instead he smiles at the role his little brother is filling so perfectly. 

“Go ahead, Gabriel. Give Dean over because you can’t do it yourself, don’t have the guts to kill him.”

Sam starts walking away and confusion soon begins to light Dean’s features. He watches Sam and Michael carefully, the former to see what the hell he’s actually doing, the latter to make sure the dick doesn’t lay a finger on his brother, even though he appears as curious as the eldest Winchester is. Dean looks over at Gabriel momentarily, sees him smile a little and wink at him. 

Dean cocks his head to the side, a distinctly Castiel gesture that has rubbed off on him even though he’s been gone for years, wonders what Sam and Gabriel have planned. He’s so confused, doesn’t know who or what to believe anymore and it’s literally tearing him to shreds. 

_Wait a minute… is Gabriel betraying Michael?_

He wants to smile even though he’s left irrevocably speechless and he doubts anything, anything at all will be able to break him out of this trance. 

_That means this was all an act… and Sam is a hell of a lot smarter than I had thought._

_Go, Sammy._

And then Dean sees it, a faint flicker of red in the distance but he can see it nonetheless, what must be Sam’s blood, painted into what looks like a sigil. And goddammit, if he can see it then Michael must see it too…

“Sam!”

His little brother’s hand frantically reaches for the bark of the tree, waiting for his fingers to inevitably brush the sigil and Dean can barely watch, wanting to shut his eyes before the blinding light looms before him with such force as it has dozens of other times, doesn’t want to see if Sam makes it before Michael takes him, doesn’t think it’s fair to see who’s the fastest, quicker at the draw. This isn’t some damn gunfight and yet it is, and hell, he should be the one over there, risking his precious life, not Sam’s. Not Sam. 

His eyes widen painfully as he can just make out Sam’s index finger brush the sigil, Gabriel tensing beside him because he can feel it, his own heartbeat beating so ferociously in his ears like the sound of a hundred pounding drums, pulsing along with the life force of the archangel’s grace. They are standing so near yet the human feels they could be light years apart and he would still feel it within his bones, throughout his veins, alive in his soul. 

It’s as if he and Gabriel are connecting, becoming one being, both the pulse of his grace and the beating of his own heart, sparking his soul to such vibrant life, are entwining. 

Dean can feel Gabriel… his panic… his wish… his love…

And it is the very meaning of beauty itself, seeing through an archangel’s eyes, surging to life within his vessel. 

The light is fierce that rises up before them yet something inside Gabriel is holding it back. Dean looks over at him as if thinking his face will give it away, yet it does not, what he can feel inside of Gabriel is about as useless as his poker face. 

Not knowing what’s going on, scarcely able to fathom, to endure Gabriel’s grace burning a hole among the exterior of his very soul, hell bent on making its way inside its barriers, Dean closes his eyes as he feels the archangel slip a hand in his own, squeezing it, giving him strength yet the human pulls away. 

Feeling Gabriel is already too much. 

And then Dean can feel his eyes opening against his will, looking before him to see the faint outline of the almighty douchebag Michael, lost in flickering white light and uncertain ethereal shadows, his face utterly blank as he stares at something Dean can’t see… can’t quite make out. 

“Miss me, boys?”

Dean can feel Gabriel pull away from him completely and with all he appears to have left, the archangel takes advantage of the opportunity and sprints towards what he hopes to be a savory victory. 

_Just remember, Dean. That everything I am doing now, it’s all for you._

_Yeah well, I’ll believe it when I see it._

_You will._

_Gabriel?_

_Yes, Dean?_

_Don’t go doing anything stupid, alright?_

Gabriel winks and Dean thinks he finally might get it, a light smile playing across his features at the completely unexpected yet beautiful smirk on Gabriel’s face, which he can see clearly in his mind as if the archangel hadn’t abandoned him at all within the last few seconds. 

And Dean’s eyes… are finally open as they close in exhaustion and relief moments later, just at the exact moment that Gabriel crashes into what he only hopes to be Michael. 

Praying… just praying that maybe they’ll all make it out of this alive. 

 

Dean considers only for a moment that he’s lost all consciousness, but the second his eyes open again he knows they have not been closed for longer than a few seconds. 

Which ultimately… is enough. 

He gazes at the sight before him, Gabriel sprawled out on the ground, actually alive and not in any danger, a look of unadulterated shock adorning every inch of his face, shining through his eyes and causing his mouth to drop open in surprise. And as suspicious as he somewhat looks, it seems that the amazement wins out as they both stare up at an angel that Dean hasn’t seen in quite a while. In fact, not since Cas killed him. 

“Miss me, boys?”

Shit, that wasn’t Michael at all. 

It was Balthazar. 

Dean’s standing at this point but he almost wants to shrink back down to the ground again, unsure of what to do because he has no clue how the angel is still alive and kicking, doesn’t know what his agenda might be and ultimately that means he could be on Michael’s side. 

Shit, that wouldn’t be good at all. 

He gulps, looking back and forth between Gabriel and Balthazar, trying to gauge a possible answer from the former, whom he’s still mulling over whether to trust even if Sam seems to, and the latter because all he can see is the light smile, the relief that he’s back on solid ground when all Dean wants is for him to go away and uncomplicate matters for all of them. Unless he’s on their side, then his involvement is very much appreciated as far as Dean’s concerned. 

When he finally comes back to his senses, the eldest becomes smart enough to figure out that Michael is nowhere nearby, in fact, he isn’t quite sure where the hell he is, when the hell he’ll be back. Not that that bothers Dean in any way, shape or form. 

Judging from the proof before his very eyes that Gabriel didn’t seem to know about Balthazar’s existence, he’s willing to bet Sam wasn’t filled in on this major issue either. That’s right… Sam. 

He glances over towards the tree, wills himself not to panic when he doesn’t find him near the sigil or anywhere else near that particular tree, as he continues flicking his eyes about the desolate landscape, just knowing, or at least hoping he’ll find him somewhere, as shocked to see the angel as he is. 

But Sam isn’t around… he’s gone. 

Sam’s gone. 

 

Balthazar is so sick of seeing that dick, regardless of his superior status over him, so he figures it’s best to get rid of him while he has the chance, even if siding with the Winchesters yet again may not be the best decision, which was proven by Castiel the last time he happened to be alive. 

He can remember his death quite clearly, the blade slicing him open and his grace fading away into nothing, the most painful thing about dying period. Because when your grace suffers, is ripped apart piece by agonizing piece, you don’t even have the breath in you to scream, let alone fight back and hold onto the last remnant of your grace that is slipping away quicker than you’re able to treasure it one last perfect time. 

And then your wings… your wings are burnt away into nothing and oh… you can feel that as clearly as the sunlight that once warmed them quite nicely. 

He thinks about that in the last second of his life, the rays shining down on his feathers, welcoming each and every one into its warmth, its blessed heat and cheerful radiance.  
The way Balthazar would flex his wings in the mid afternoon sun, feel his feathers tingle in pleasure which only caused him to sigh and think further on the humans’ domain.  
Earth, earth was quite a beautiful place when you taught yourself to look past all the destruction and focus on something so ephemeral. 

Beauty was always found in the small and short lasting things. 

Like the sun, because the sun would die out someday and at night there was often this terrible chill, a shade which was far too overbearing and made him bloody insane. 

No, he’ll take the sunlight any day. 

Away from that subject though, he’s hated Michael’s guts ever since the first day he laid eyes upon him. 

He can clearly see Dean’s worried about his brother, doesn’t even need to strain to break into his head for a brief moment, he can sense it, see by the look in his eyes, the one that begs Balthazar of so many things, to get him back, to tell him what the hell is going on, why he’s back and what comes next for the three of them… here… now. 

The angel stares down at Gabriel, an archangel he’s never gotten to know too well but regardless, seems thankful for his presence and temporary dismissal of Michael. 

He doesn’t even know how he did it, got rid of Michael that is. Some incomprehensible power surged through him, starting at the heart of his grace and extending out towards his wings, his fingers as he banished Michael from the dreamscape, who was nearly inches away from exploding in a sense and taking Gabriel down with him. 

Stupid foolish archangel. 

“What, no welcome back?”

 

Gabriel doesn’t care about what he’s supposed to be feeling anymore. Dean is alive and Dean is not bleeding and…

Dean may or may not hate him. 

It’s better than nothing. 

His eyes betray him, Balthazar basking in every bit of his shock and suspicion, reflecting it back to Gabriel as if he’s trying to be sympathetic or something, though Gabriel knows he’ll have to do a much better job at convincing him, especially since Dean still remains his top priority. 

He doesn’t even have to look over at Dean to know that Sam is gone, he can sense it and judging by the way his eyes won’t stop roaming, searching, probably due to the fact that he feels as responsible for Sam as he does towards Dean, he can feel his charge’s distress, the extra strain being placed on his head and heart, Balthazar, the ‘supposed to be dead’ angel standing powerfully above them not exactly helping matters any. 

The angel lends him a hand though and he accepts, allowing the angel to take the full weight of his vessel and pull him back up on his feet. 

Maybe he should be thinking of the numerous ways to kill Balthazar, he does know a few off the top of his head, given that he’s so much easier to kill than he himself is, but that doesn’t mean that’s where his thoughts are. He can see something in Balthazar that he assumes he can trust, even if he doesn’t have his own agenda he’s not certain he won’t harm Dean, and Gabriel will just have to accept that for now because they have bigger things to worry about. With Sam gone, they need as many on their side as they can get, and because he’s also not sure who is worse, Loki or Michael, he could really use the extra input. 

Gabriel looks over at the sigil, unused, unbroken, what was once mere millimeters away from Sam Winchester’s desperate fingers, beyond overwrought in the attempt to save his brother, something which Gabriel failed at as well and unconsciously carried over to Balthazar, who he would have suspected should show little concern towards either human. 

If the angel knows where Sam is he’ll get it out of him, his own style of interrogation, but at this point he very strongly doubts it, no matter how Dean may ridicule for what looks to be blind trust. 

His eyes fall upon the green-eyed human now, strength seeming to well up within Dean enough so that he pushes away from Balthazar when he gives the same offer given to Gabriel, lifts himself up on his feet and stares at the angel, the two of them giving each other blank looks which bewilder Gabriel for several moments before Dean’s face morphs into that of distrust. 

Well, had to happen sooner or later. 

“Where’s Sam?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Bull.”

He can tell Balthazar wants to look away from Dean, it’s hard for him to face his charge at this point as well, for it would mean looking his own failure straight in the face. 

Dean appears unbreakable, stubborn and determined yes, but generally not fearful in the slightest under the angel’s light stare, which suggests that Balthazar is nowhere near ready to pick a fight with this force to be reckoned with.

It makes Gabriel want to laugh a little, before reality slams him back in the face that is. 

What has always made the archangel smile and silently cheer him on is the eldest Winchester’s ability to hold his own, and not just for moments but hours, days on end. It was several decades in the pit before he broke, an amazing feat if you were to ask Gabriel, and breaking wasn’t entirely his fault. It’s something he doesn’t need to be convinced of, but rather knows. Hell’s something which is still difficult to this day for Gabriel to look back on even though it was such an important moment. 

Balthazar doesn’t know Dean the way he does though, makes it all too perfectly clear that he isn’t sure what to make of him now, what his next move should be and ultimately how the human will take it. 

And then the angel breaks apart a little, under a human’s treacherous gaze of all the creatures out there. 

“I believe he may be with Loki.”

Dean nods, “Let’s go.”

And before Gabriel can reach him, lay a hand on his shoulder that will make it all the more harder to not lock Dean up to further protect him, Balthazar places a calm and gentle hand on the human’s shoulder and instead of Gabriel loathing him for it, enacting his own personal wrath based on dreaded jealously and nothing more, he appreciates it far more than he’d like to admit because this is the angel in the here and now, a second protector towards his charge. 

That warms Gabriel’s grace fully. 

Dean pauses, glares up at Balthazar but the angel seems to hold him in his gaze for the time being, stilling Dean completely even if he does tense up considerably more.  
Gabriel takes one step closer to be a familiar comfort, nothing extra, even though he can’t be too sure what Dean’s view on him is anymore, something that only leads to more guilt and more sadness. 

“Let go of me.”

“Dean, I think you should…”

“Think I should what?” He growls, fists clenching and unclenching, apparently not being swayed under the angel’s fierce though pretty harmless gaze, “Stay calm? Be cool? You don’t know what it’s like, to lose a brother, to run the risk of losing him again, when you could have done something to stop it.”

“I do," Balthazar answers firmly, struggling to suppress his momentary rage from what Gabriel can see from their space apart. 

“Castiel was my brother if you remember that, Dean. I loved him and I cared for him, protected him in battle, worried about his safety. And then you came along, challenged who he was and all he could be, not that I blame you for that particularly, falling was the route I took as well. But your appreciation," he hisses, “or rather, lack of it towards him was what shook me the most. Yet I joined your side, for reasons still unknown to me, and I was stabbed in the back by that same brother whom, yes, I betrayed but whom I loved more than anyone. So tell me again, Dean Winchester, what don’t I bloody know about brotherhood?”

Dean’s throat contracts and Gabriel fills the space between them, about to pull Dean back against him, praying he doesn’t struggle, until Balthazar’s voice takes him by surprise, tightening his grip on Dean’s shoulder so that the human, his human, winces slightly. 

“Don’t worry, Gabriel. I won’t hurt your precious human.”

His grip loosens and he releases Dean completely, pushing him gently into Gabriel’s open arms, none too surprised when Dean shoves the archangel away and a hurt look takes over Gabriel’s features. 

“Your love for him is quite touching," his voice startles Gabriel by its gentleness, almost as if remembering something and thinking of that, keeping a distance now between the other two beneath his stare.

Until Gabriel remembers who he is, that even without his wings he is stronger, even if the pain of seeing Balthazar’s only fills him with more longing. 

Then the angel snaps out of it, flexing his wings. 

“I do have a plan you know.”

 

He nearly chokes on how cold this place is, on how dark and how the shadows seem to swirl around the dark figure whose back is currently turned towards him. It hurts to know that Dean experienced this as well, feeling so alone and freezing his ass off, though Sam tries not to dwell over it too much since now he’s here. 

Now it’s _his_ fight to survive. 

He wants to laugh at the complete surprise of noticing Balthazar just before Loki rose up and took him, screaming out Dean’s name and reaching towards Gabriel, the one being he would have given anything for Dean to never lose trust in, and the only one that he has hope in enough to keep his brother safe, bring him back to the light and the truth: that he has only ever been there for Dean. 

That he loves him much in the same way Sam does, just not in the exact same way. 

It’s thinking of this that he can’t help but smile, despite the fact that the cold wrapping around him becomes more and more like a gag, that his chest is heaving and it’s increasingly harder to breathe. It’s not like he’s hyperventilating or anything, just that this whole situation is starting to freak him out more and more. 

“Dean won’t come," he fights to get out of his throat and past his lips. “He’s too good to fall into this trap.”

“Oh really?” Loki hisses, his very voice seemed to be made of ice that cuts Sam deeper than anything else could, “We’ll just have to wait and see then.”

“What do you want anyway?”

Loki turns to him, grinning wickedly and moving closer, a lone figure stroking Sam’s neck and he fights to move away though only manages to press himself even further against the colder than death concrete wall. 

“I like you, Sam. You’re," he pauses, “innocent. Sweet. Naïve.”

He laughs and turns away, only making Sam want his brother more. 

 

“No, absolutely not," Gabriel demands, following Balthazar around the hotel room, keeping an eye on Dean from the corner of his vision as his rage hits the exploding point, rendering him blinded by panic and terror which he desperately doesn’t want to show, so he shows that wrath and only that wrath. 

Hoping Balthazar can’t read him like an open book. 

“It’s the only way.”

His head whips towards the bed, “Dean…”

“Don’t. You’re not my mother, Gabriel. I appreciate your concern but you’re only hindering me from getting Sam back as quickly as possible.” 

There’s no way to escape the prospect of losing Dean, yet there is also not a way to elude the only possible way to get Sam out of this mess: send Dean in as bait and only hope it all works out. And while Gabriel may not desire, in fact loath with all of his being, doing this thing that has always been on the bottom of his list, which previously belonged to the category of hurting Dean but since that’s done and over with a million times over… anyway, he’ll just have to accept this, trust Balthazar and oh yeah, put Dean into further danger on his watch. 

You can imagine why the archangel is not happy. 

He then turns to Balthazar, much to the archangel’s horror, something strong enough that he can’t quite hide at this point, “How soon?”

“Right now if you’re feeling up to it.”

_This is bullshit… complete and total bullshit…_

“Gabriel.”

The next time he comes back Dean is off the bed and not even a foot away from him, staring him straight in the eye, determined, apologetic, a brief and suffocating flicker of every imaginable emotion taking control of his face and Gabriel can only watch the beauty and unpredictability of it all. 

“I’ll be okay.”

Gabriel breaks under his gaze. 

“Just wait for me.”

And with that the angel steps over and places two fingers on Dean’s forehead, a painful remembrance of Castiel floating across his vision before his beloved human is lost from sight completely. 

He is left alone, utterly, irrevocably alone… with nothing to keep him company other than the purest form of hysteria imaginable. 

 

“You see," Loki’s finger retreats from Sam’s neck and he finally allows himself to swallow, to take a deep breath and wish he would just shut up already unless he’s planning on saying something important. 

He talks way too much, is clearly into himself and he sickens Sam, enough so that he wishes Lucifer would just show up already if he’s gonna cause this is taking way too long. 

“Dean _will_ come for you, he _will_ become my slave and he _will_ most certainly side with Lucifer once he sees the sharp reality of getting his baby brother back.”

Sam pulls away from Loki again, not able to stand his hatred and malice brought forth before him so clearly now. Though he might as well make use of this situation, while he waits in a heavy dose of simultaneous anticipation and dread for his elder brother, whom he would beg not to come and plead to take him away from here. 

Such confliction, such cold, such pain… and yet the only thing Sam wants is a guarantee of Dean’s safety, of Gabriel’s protection of him specifically. 

Though getting out of here would be a major plus as well. 

“What does Lucifer want anyway?” He ventures, “Cause it seems like he’s too coward to tell me to my face, so he sends you, of course, to do his dirty work for him of recruiting Dean for what exactly?”

Loki growls before he gets the hint to simply smirk and keep his anger fine-tuned inside, “You’ll find out soon enough, Sammy.”

“Don’t call me that," he spits out. “Only Dean gets to call me that.”

His smirk only grows wider until he looks like the Cheshire cat, only a far more evil and far less cute version, eyes glistening as if he’s planning on Sam to be his next meal. The human only shivers, hopes Loki doesn’t notice enough to laugh, the sound of which is equivalent to a hundred thousand sharp knives scratching against a chalkboard, something that reminds him of hell. This place is as terrible as hell as far as he’s concerned, he’s nearly positive the flames are much more soothing than these shadows. 

Sam looks up at the sound of voices moments later and notices Balthazar first, then his brother trailing along behind him. There’s a burning mixture within him once more of anxiety, the need to scream at Dean to go back, and a quite bone chilling expectancy to see what’s about to happen next. He’s pretty much got a front row seat. 

His brother makes a move to come over to him but with a swipe of his hand, Loki freezes him at the spot, making Dean’s eyes grow wide as he swallows in fear several times. It’s terrifying to see this emotion so starkly in Dean, that this and not rage is pasted on his face. 

Loki must have had a greater effect on his brother than Sam had ever realized. 

“Now, Loki," Sam looks over to Balthazar, too much at a loss right now to see Dean like this, to realize how utterly fucked the two of them are but especially him. “I’ve given you what you’ve wanted, considering Gabriel is far too bloody love-struck to take action and do what’s so obviously necessary. And for that, well," he shrugs in such an uncaring manner that Sam feels like he’s been sucker punched in the gut, “means he’s forfeited those quite gorgeous wings.” 

It’s not the way he says it but the word he uses ‘I’, that puts Sam on edge so much that he leaps up on his feet, making his own way towards his Dean. 

Loki doesn’t cease his footsteps until he’s a foot away, which angers the youngest Winchester to the point of near insanity. He only wants to touch Dean once, to make sure he’s real, to reassure both himself and him, just to feel him because he has this roiling feeling in his gut that it may actually be awhile before he sees him again. 

“Dean.”

His brother looks up at him, apology written all over his face but there is something else, in his eyes, that translates over to Sam as a near wink, as if he’s saying ‘don’t worry about a thing, me and Bal got this whole thing figured out.’

And as much as Sam doubts this, he nearly smiles and laughs at Dean’s cunning and pigheadedness, at the nickname he’s used more than once for Balthazar, at this whole situation and then he hears the words…

“An even trade. And a fair one at that, do you accept?”

_An even trade._

Dean looks over at Balthazar, such pitiful shock dawning on his face that Sam fights back the bile rising in his throat, gagging because he couldn’t prevent that fast enough. 

“Those weren’t the words.”

Sam finally loses it, frantically reaching towards Dean, straining his fingers so much that they hurt, ache, literally every muscle in each one screaming at him to push himself just a little bit further, his eyes crying out as well, burning burning burning from all the tears welling up in them, blinding him momentarily though he can just about make out Dean reaching for him too before he feels two fingers brush his forehead and just before the white light rushes up to meet him…

“Sam!”

“Dean!”

 

_Five Hours Later_

 

Gabriel continues pacing the room, hands clenching and unclenching into fists, breath wheezing in and out, stress rising up to intolerable levels before sinking down again to the uncomfortable silence the room provides. 

It’s in the worst of moments where he realizes how much Dean does mean to him. 

His head whips up at the slightest sound, a tree branch swaying outside the window like a melodic, yet unpredictable dancer, a large acorn slamming onto the windowpane, its noise heightened to ear splitting proportions because the window has been open for a while now, an unpleasant yet welcome reminder of the chill, the bitter coldness much like a grievous winter similar to what Dean experienced at the hands of Loki. The deep and oppressive chill sinking into his vessel, beginning to bother him now after five hours of really not noticing, his coat rustling a little in the calm turning harsh wind that paired with everything else is all so unwelcome yet all too necessary. 

Gabriel feels so useless, standing here, pretending that everything will be alright when he knows it’ll turn out that the exact opposite is the case. Trying to convince himself he can’t do anything but he knows he can… has to be able to do something. 

Then the archangel stops pacing, looks at the lilac purple carpet, the chocolate brown drapes pulled back to reveal the sunset outside that comes nowhere near Dean Winchester’s beauty and the grace the hunter has in every action he takes, every word he speaks. 

Dean in his arms, his questions and words directed at him, his blind and welcome trust. 

Dean’s vivacious hazel eyes, his slight smile that is Gabriel’s reward, his blinding inner light. 

He wishes he could be even half of what Dean needs. 

 

When his eyes burst open its hard to get his erratic breathing under control, his heartbeat going _thump thump thump_ in his strained chest. His head whips around frantically, hearing noises, _voices_ here and there but unable to distinguish where their source is. 

Finally, the blindingly white light clears and his eyes blink away their temporary blurred quality, sharpen and hone in on the image of Balthazar. Pretty much the last person he wants to see at this point. 

“Where’s Dean?”

Because if his brother is not beside him, that’s always the question on his mind. 

“Gone," Balthazar turns away for a moment, no longer than a moment. 

Sam focuses on him even more clearly, seeing a somewhat sad look on his face which only makes the youngest Winchester urge himself to press him more. But then he starts to notice the more than awkward surroundings he’s in, the lavish bedroom that he sits on the burgundy red carpet of, the massive cherry wood doors leading to who knows where.

The king sized bed and its comforter is a rich yet deep dark purple, screaming luxury and to say that Sam is very confused would be a huge huge understatement. There are gold furnishings and silver platters that are heaped sky high with every food imaginable, both commonwealth and exotic, everywhere he looks. 

Isn’t this more like Gabriel’s style?

“Where am I?”

“Safe, Sam.” Balthazar smiles softly, “You’re safe.”

And if only he could believe it. 

 

Gabriel doesn’t listen. 

Why should he listen to Balthazar anyway?

So what he does is watch the exchange carefully, labeling Balthazar as a prick and vowing to deal with his stupid feathery ass later, waiting for the precise moment where Loki will be distracted for a fraction of a second and then Gabriel will charge. 

Get Dean back or die in the attempt. 

He won’t be fast enough to grab both the Winchesters, though when given a choice he knows who he’ll pick because of the way his grace tugs him towards that one person. He doesn’t follow this though, surprising to himself. As a spur of the moment decision he follows Sam and Balthazar, knowing Dean will kill him at a later date if he doesn’t at least attempt to get Sam back. 

Gabriel’s left completely speechless when he realizes that the angel has no intention to hurt Sam, instead he’s merely protecting him, shutting him away safely until a later date where they all can regroup. He smiles, spends longer there than he should, doesn’t quite remember until a while of watching the two of them, Balthazar’s fiercely protective stance over the sleeping younger Winchester, that time couldn’t be more different between heaven and everywhere else. 

Everywhere else meaning the land of shadows. 

He instantly leaves and in a flash of motion and light, grabs Dean and cradles him to his form, too determined to allow the horror to overcome him at the sight of Loki, doing who knows what to Dean, merely hovering above him and Dean is shivering, crying, bleeding everywhere…

_Oh my…_

Loki is too late and Gabriel is too fast, sending a massive wave of light that very nearly grows out of his control and slams into the monster’s face, throwing him backward, too stunned to do much but lay there and wonder what the hell just happened. 

Dean lets out a mind searing scream and Gabriel retreats, letting the human go, scramble out of his hold to cower against the wall, the moment they make it back to the all too familiar bedroom. 

Amongst the twilight and the deep shadows casted about the humble bedroom, complimentary of the full moon that lies in wait outside, starkly bringing out the human’s pale features and quivering form, Dean huddles on the ground, against the wall, as far away from the archangel as he can manage. 

Somewhere deep inside his dulling grace, Gabriel can feel something shatter. 

He walks up, hesitantly, not sure if he should be doing this so soon but goddammit, he loves Dean and cares about him and wants to be that constant comfort, which he’s failed at so miserably lately. He wants to hold him, caress him and this is his perfect opportunity. 

Gabriel’s gonna go slow though, the last thing he wants to do is startle him, more deeply scar him even though it seems like he couldn’t be scarred a bit more. 

He, that monster who he cannot believe has ever been a part of him, stripped Dean down, to his most emotionally vulnerable level, so agonizingly close to the point of insanity that Gabriel can scarcely believe it, thinks this has to be a dream. All of it, has to be a dream. 

How is the human still breathing? How is he not unconscious, dead? He’s trembling so frighteningly fast that Gabriel is sure he’ll collapse at any moment. Loki tore him to shreds, there are bruises covering his skin nearly everywhere, blood trickling down the side of his neck, a large gash in his forehead. Not to mention, there’s blood everywhere Gabriel looks, and he has to blindly hope that it’s not all Dean’s when there’s no proof, no reason out there to suggest that it isn’t all his. 

_What happened?_

Gabriel breathes, takes another step forward, realizes he should be quick because he can tell the pain for his human is too much and he must succumb to it to salvage what’s left of his mind, allow him to heal in a controlled environment. A dreamscape created by Gabriel himself, safe, secure, peaceful, much like the one he sent Dean into after the werewolf incident. 

He smiles a tiny bit, knowing Dean will love the light again. He shouldn’t be thinking about that now though. 

His hand reaches out, comes close to brushing his forehead before Dean shoves it away with his own quivering hand, without even looking away from the carpet and a millimeter into Gabriel’s pleading, worried beyond belief eyes. 

“Just dreams, Dean. No nightmares.”

“Promise?” Dean gasps out, a particularly fierce tremor wracking its way through his deprived form. 

All Gabriel can feel is a mind-numbing, bone clenching pain for him, for what he’s no doubt had to go through. 

He’ll get payback. 

Oh yes, he will get vengeance. 

“Promise, Dean," he whispers gently, noticing how Dean is still completely tense even though he knows full well that this is Gabriel standing above him, here for him. 

This greatly worries the archangel. 

“Take me," Dean relents in a very low whisper, hands unclenching from their previous stance as fists. 

Gabriel takes him away to a painless, guilt free environment.


	7. Finger Tips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been looking forward to writing this chapter for a while, there are some events I’ve been dying to delve into, and as far as I’m concerned it’s time for Dean and Gabriel to become just that little bit closer. Sorry for the super long wait, but I hope I can make up for it by an extra special and extra-long chapter, which has been screaming at me to write throughout all these six chapters. Enjoy it because the next chapter is going to be a bit of an acid trip. I think the song fits the mood perfectly, love ya Gavin, so enjoy the read.   
> Song Featured: Chapter title and lyrics are from Bush’s “The Sound of Winter”.

_~I don’t want to lean on the waves_  
I watch the storm evaporate  
I think of you in starry skies  
I keep you so alive  
Let’s walk through the fire together  
Disappear in the golden sands~ 

“You know, you don’t have to be in this fight with us. We’re big boys, fully capable of taking care of a measly shape shifter. Really, there’s no need for a third person, not when there’s another case over in Laguna Beach.”

He looks over at Sam, fully expecting his brother to back him up but he remains a silent partner, just on the sidelines, not ready until he deems fit to take an active role in this conversation. Dean sighs, ‘figures’. 

Truth be told, he doesn’t even want to take Sam on this case. Back in the Stanford days, when dad sent him off on his own to kill every son of a bitch he ordered him to, taking care of a completely different case, totally different monster in plenty of states over, Dean was on his own. Completely on his own. 

He never expected help from anybody, partly because he didn’t trust a living soul, also because he didn’t have the time or the need to seek out another hunter which would more than likely slow him down. He’d taken on a couple cases of shape shifters, ganked their asses and went on his merry way, not even pausing to think of Sam, who he was happy for but no doubt should have been there, by his side, in the fight with him. 

No, there was no one Dean could depend on back then, nothing waiting for him at the end of every road but another phone call from his father, telling him to get going on another about an hour after he was done with the last, expecting them all to go perfectly and they did. For the most part anyway. He kept Sam out of his mind so much back then that by the time he got him back after their dad went missing, it felt more than strange, great and a relief for sure, but nonetheless sorta awkward as well. Not like he was gonna express that to Sam in any way, barely even considered it before he got so used to it again, having him within eyesight, an arm’s reach. 

None of these reasons should explain or justify why Dean doesn’t want him on this particular hunt though, he’s had him at his side for how many years now, so why should he feel like he has to do this alone, without the help of Sam or anyone else close enough to him?

Of course, telling the other person, the person the words just so happened to be directed towards, that he doesn’t need to worry about a thing, can stay behind because they’ll all be hunky dory, is like telling him to shoot his ass. 

“What the hell is wrong with ya idjits? Ya think you can just leave an old man behind because he doesn’t fit in your particular puzzle, convince him to hole up here for another week or so till your scrawny asses come back sore, bruised up and half dead? Don’t need me my ass. Scoot over, cause ya sure as hell ain’t leaving without me.” 

Oh yeah, did he mention that guy was Bobby?

Sam just stares at Dean, a smile playing across his features as he shrugs, hopping into the backseat as Bobby shoves Dean towards the passenger’s, sticking the key into the ignition of the truck and pulling out and onto the road barely minutes later. Dean looks out the window, glancing at the only home he’s known retreat into the distance, feeling like he’s leaving it forever when he’s only being ridiculous because it’s really temporary. In a few days they’ll be back, with more tales to tell, the adventures the three of them have had on this little excursion. Not to mention one less shape shifter in the world. 

His Impala’s been a little under the weather lately so he figures he won’t postpone hunting for her, try to let her rest up a little in Bobby’s garage so when they get back a few days from now he should be able to fix her up a little more and determine exactly what’s wrong. 

Dean doesn’t even try to argue with Bobby, who’s clearly hell bent on coming with them even though he hasn’t been plenty of other times. And as annoyed as the eldest brother may be, he’s also sorta relieved to have his entire family beside him. 

Sam is in the backseat begging him to change the music because apparently he hates Metallica and it’s not like Dean doesn’t know, it has been said a million times before. When he gets sick of the begging he moves onto threatening to never buy him pie again, in which Dean tell him to shut his cakehole and changes the station. He doesn’t feel like arguing much anyway. Bobby’s laughing as he’s concentrating on the road, sometimes looking over at Dean or back at Sam, shaking his head in disbelief yet happiness. Dean rolls his eyes but smiles too, the mood is contagious and they’re on the road, off to hunt. 

Dean tells himself never to take these moments for granted. 

 

“Dean…”

He shoves Gabriel away for what must be the hundredth time, yet he keeps on coming forward and Dean can tell he’s about to corner him soon. He’s already pressed back against the wall, senses firing out of control, decadent, tormenting past micro images flashing across his eyes almost as if Gabriel is tricking him yet again, about to take off his mask at any moment and reveal his true nature. 

“Get the fuck away from me!”

The human can’t be near him, can’t feel his touch or get his hopes up at the fact that this is Gabriel because Gabriel is gone now, completely gone and Dean is left alone to his master, a slave once more being given snapshots of someone he cares about, the voice real, the eyes real yet none of it is. 

He growls, “Get away from me, you freak.”

“Dean…” He tries again. 

Why does it have to sound so real, why does he have to look all too real?

“I said…” 

Dean trips over something on the carpet he can’t dare to look at, can’t look at anything but his own scarred arms to be exact, and falls to the ground, the abrupt motion startling him so he cries out, or rather yelps in surprise. 

He doesn’t feel hands on him like he suspected he would, instead his gaze moves up just a tiny bit to see Gabriel’s feet, to reveal the archangel is standing about a foot away though he can’t even dare to look up and read his face because he knows, absolutely knows what he will see there. There will be inescapable pools of the most horrid blackness imaginable that he will fall into permanently this time, or maybe even temporary again like the million times before, before his master sends his pet to another place. 

Right now, it mysteriously looks like the hotel room yet it is not. 

Just more head games, more ways for a fake Gabriel to play with Dean, bruise him, scar him, cut him open as if he were nothing more than a hunk of flesh to play with, a doll to carve into a better being. A human to take hold of and to break and twist and shatter the humanity held within the soul. 

Dean can’t allow himself to have hope this time, it’s a lost cause because he will only drag him back to the depths of hell, to a master who’s far worse than Alistair ever was primarily because his cutting is more precise and the fact that he likes to dress up as Gabriel, someone who Dean is, _was_ dying to trust and maybe even to love yet it’s over. 

Gabriel is dead and gone, or if not that then sipping pina coladas with Michael and enjoying the taste of freedom, the sensation of his wings returned in full health…

“It’s me, Dean," he says as he leans down, attempting to make eye contact with the human but he can’t. 

He just can’t. 

This is a new one, usually he’s back in the pit by now. As much as his master may like to trick him by disguising himself as Gabriel, he’s still vain enough to miss his own form, making Dean stare at him until he wants to tear his eyes out. 

“I know you don’t think so," Gabriel whispers, extending a hand to touch Dean’s face and the human slaps it away, more than a little startled by how real the flesh of the vessel feels. 

His master could never fake something like that. 

“But know that I am done lying to you, Dean.”

Dean flinches a little, staring up hesitantly, locking his own eyes with Gabriel’s. It is pure amber this time, no flicker of darkness, no morphing into pitch black pools of unquenchable destruction. The concerned and patient look on his face doesn’t twist into something unreal and demonic either, the flesh doesn’t melt away to reveal what is hidden underneath. 

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you in time.”

Dean gulps, not wanting to believe it but there’s too much evidence not to. There is a pleading yet heartfelt nature to the figure’s voice, one he wants to believe so badly. 

_Could I really be back? Could this all actually be over?_

Gabriel only continues to stares deeply at him, mirroring Dean’s own shredded with fear hazels, seeming to say so much in that one small gesture that Dean can feel his heart break, like it does every single time. Can feel himself giving in like he always does, always will end up doing because his master will always win out in the end, there’s no doubt about that and it gives Dean yet another reason to begin sobbing uncontrollably, crying out for Gabriel like he did for the first few hours before knowing better. 

Before realizing he won’t come back, there’s so much out there for him to choose over Dean. So much reason for Gabriel to just stay away, abandon him, not give him this look right now. 

_It can’t be him so stop saying it. You’re a sucker, Dean Winchester. You’re pathetic and yet you still want to know how you can fall for it every time when the evidence is there. This isn’t Gabriel, it will never be Gabriel because Gabriel will never care. Has never cared._

The amber eyes sparkle again and Dean takes a deep breath, lets his hand reach for him, exactly what he shouldn’t be doing and the archangel immediately pulls himself closer, permitting him to believe before the real truth is shoved in his face yet again. 

That this is… must be another sick dream, a world, life, _moment_ the human craves and his master will forevermore play off of, use his wishes and wants to his advantage and twist them into unrecognizable shapes, scarring real life figures into things, objects that Dean grows to loathe, scream at to leave him alone, cry so brokenly in front of. 

Gabriel is the hardest to see, when his master becomes him it is unbearable because there is so much in the true archangel that he needs, depends on, almost loves in a sense and when he, it breaks away into its true form Dean is haunted, broken, convinced to believe that there is no escape from this, no way to make that particular image go away because the human inside Dean, _the soul,_ craves him, needs him, is so strongly pulled and so ferociously reacts to this figure and this figure alone. 

His master knows his true feelings, scrapes the mask away from its protective stance around his soul and determines the one thing that will disturb his pet the most. 

And he rapes that gorgeous image. 

So, how could this be Gabriel right now? How is there any way at all when the hope that’s still managed to survive in him should have been eradicated long ago?

_I can’t…_

“I can’t give in again.”

The archangel strokes his cheek, makes him look back up into his eyes again and Dean hasn’t even realized that he dropped his gaze amongst all this inner conflict he’s _still_ enduring. 

“You don’t have to.”

His voice is so gentle, an entity of its own that Dean allows himself to believe, this one last time, that this is his savior. 

“I am so sorry.”

Gabriel’s voice cracks on the ‘so’, leading the human’s eyes to go wide, his mouth to open a little in a gasp. His master has not been able to fake this yet, to create it in its purest form, to allow his eyes to go wide such as this one’s eyes are, his voice seemingly bubbling up deep within his throat and Dean can sense, feel that it comes from somewhere this being treasures, can feel a calming presence surround him and then… oh my…

The broken human can feel a distinct heavenly entity brush against his soul lightly, a loving warmth about it that’s cradled in a glowing golden light and Dean takes this opportunity to breathe. 

To dream. 

A shiver runs its way through his trembling form, healing his figure so slowly it feels unreal, pleasurable enough to cause him to gasp out, startling him that he almost tries to pull away until he realizes how good it feels, how familiar and friendly and not quite unlike something he felt not too long ago at all. 

“Gabriel?”

The archangel doesn’t hesitate to pull even closer, “Sweetheart.”

_Did he just call me sweetheart?_

Dean’s still not fully in his right mind though, not as open as he might be to criticize this new nickname for him that actually should be welcome but at this moment is nothing but awkward, in a sweet way, he hates to admit. 

If not for this light, it would be unbearable for Gabriel to linger so close to his achingly terrified form, since he would think that he’s being taken advantage of again. His eyes still don’t flash black, he’s constantly telling himself, his face isn’t melting, his hands and mind seem to hold no evil intent. 

He’s practically completely convinced himself now, but there’s still always that chance. 

The light brushes his soul very very lightly but it is still too much for Dean, a scream soon making its way out of this throat painfully yet Gabriel doesn’t even cower away, merely pulls himself closer so he is now brushing up against Dean. 

The scream rips its way through his throat like glass, to the point where he’s not sure whether he’ll ever be able to talk again. To speak Gabriel’s name. 

His light, it must be _his_ light, crawls away, not too quickly for Dean imagines it would startle him even more. It escapes the human’s interior, wrapping around his exterior in soothing waves, lapping in nothing but healing ripples across his many bruises, the map across his skin that proves the torture enacted upon him. 

Dean doesn’t scream again, just shakes harder and chokes back a sob as he moves a little closer. Gabriel gets the hint and wraps him up in his arms, lightly petting his back and emitting a stream of warm breath in his ear as he breathes, coupled with soothing whispers of mindless reassurances, plenty to ground him and convince him to take a deep breath. 

The archangel cradles him as he picks him up slowly, Dean’s legs and arms turning to jelly as he does so, finally allowing themselves to let go after the incredible tensing they’re enacted upon themselves for the last hellishly realistic hours that felt more like decades. Gabriel’s hold on Dean becomes tighter as he carries him into the bedroom. 

The human who’s gone through so much allows himself to shut his eyes. 

And while caught up in a peaceful dream, Gabriel cries a million tears for the both of them. 

 

The blood on his hands…

_His blood on my hands._

It merely remains there, a less than peaceful reminder of the family he’s lost, for the blood does not just stand for one but all of them. 

_Jo, Ellen, John, etc. etc. etc._

Till he bursts with the grief of it all, the knowledge of his growing inability to trudge on through the dirt and fallen corpses of all his deceased family, their blood littering the road his Impala drives on, every twist and turn revealing another horrific body, decayed through time, reeking of misery and his endless mistakes. 

_The list goes on and on and on._

_Just like the stupid fucking useless road goes on and on and on._

The tears build up inside what’s left of his torn heart, he still believes the most intact piece remains in hell with Alistair, keep on building up and building up and building up until they form an impenetrable wall around his heart, preventing happiness or anything good that’s left in life to make itself known to him, only permitting him one thing, the constant need to protect his brother. 

_Protect Sammy…_

But that, he can’t even do that anymore. 

He’s crying and screaming and falling falling falling through black nothingness, running from nothing but his own past, the outstretched hands of all he’s responsible for killing, when his own wall breaks. 

_Humpty dumpty sat on the wall… humpty dumpty had a great fall…_

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

He’s dragged through the dirt. 

 

Dean screams his way towards consciousness, bursting up into a more elevated position before he even realizes he’s doing it. He throws the silk sheets off him and tumbles out of bed, hand on the doorknob faster than he can think and soon yanking the door open, stumbling out of the bedroom and rushing towards the living room, breathing hard when he notices Gabriel. 

“Let me go," he growls, eyes hard, fierce, tired of the bullshit because to hell with it, he’s done succumbing. 

Done being the fucker’s pet. 

Gabriel stands up immediately, though seeming to know better not to move, “Dean?”

Whether he realizes standing still is for his own benefit, facing Dean’s wrath practically head on at the moment should be more than enough, or simply because he doesn’t wish to startle him further Dean doesn’t actually know. 

Doesn’t actually care. 

And then he’s out of his head and on the archangel, grabbing him, shoving him away, advancing on him when he’s already pressed up against the nearest wall. Just like last night or whenever the hell it was, being cornered like a fucking animal and he had been fearful and shaking so badly…

_That’s right, take control._

“Stop it!” Dean screams, eyes permanently locked onto Gabriel’s and he knows the archangel can feel the anger literally pouring off of him, all of it directed towards him. 

_My pretty little pet._

“Get out of my head!”

Dean shoves him again, hard, doesn’t even notice let alone care about the look of horror mixed with a sharp contrast of understanding on Gabriel’s face. Then again, he’s so wrapped up in what’s he’s doing, the anger that just won’t abate, that he doesn’t realize Gabriel’s hand sneaking up to grab him. 

Doesn’t realize it before it’s too late. 

The human screams like only a captive animal, one locked in a cage for so long, could, struggles as Gabriel holds him tightly to him, a firm yet gentle grip yet Dean still can’t stand it, wants to be free of this monster forever. 

“Dean, listen to me. It’s me, it’s Gabriel. I love you and I am so sorry for what he did to you. I should have protected you, never let you go off like that in the first place. But you will heal," he caresses the back of the human’s head, “I promise you, if it is the last thing I will ever do you will heal.”

_I love you…_

Dean stops, looks at him, finally breaking free from that horrid dream and clasping onto reality with as much desperation and raw need as he had when attacking Gabriel. That little incident last night, when Gabriel’s grace brushed his soul, that wasn’t faked. Couldn’t possibly be faked. And right here and now, every word the archangel spoke with such longing, such promise and love, not to mention those three little words that tell Dean all he needs to know. 

This _is_ Gabriel. 

Gabriel lets go of him gently though in one swift motion, and can only watch with curious and suspicious eyes as he backs away, though only one step, never taking his eyes off of his. 

They stare for innumerable seconds, not one pair of eyes seeming to win over the other, until Dean says enough is enough and runs back up to Gabriel, takes hold of him this time and hugs him as tightly and lovingly as he has ever hugged Sammy, with every emotion the same, the feelings he’s surrendering to, the sensations he realizes he doesn’t just want but needs, cherishes. 

They hug and that is all Dean can give to Gabriel at the moment, for everything he has done for him. 

Then again, it may be everything the archangel truly needs. 

 

Dean falls to the ground in front of the cabin in the middle of the woods, Bobby’s blood still on his hands, staring down at it as if it’s his own. Sam stands above him, sobbing and Dean would as well if he weren’t so numb. 

This is it, the last remaining intact piece of him has broken. He is lost. 

Disappeared from this world altogether and not even Sam can spare him. 

He screams loud and long and doesn’t even consider wiping the blood off his hands, for it is the only precious thing he has left. 

His last connection. 

 

“I found you, Loki shielding you from me, hurting you and I knocked him out and took you back to me. Under my protection.”

He emphasizes the ‘my’ because he wants Dean to know now, how much he loves him. How much he’ll sacrifice, give for his benefit. He’s said those three not so little words openly to him yet they still don’t seem to register on Dean’s face. Not yet, anyway. 

“And Sammy?”

“With Balthazar. Safe. For now, anyway.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Gabriel sighs, running a hand through his honey blond hair tiredly. Just because archangels don’t need sleep doesn’t mean they can’t become emotionally exhausted from tragic event after tragic event. He’s already past that point of wondering whether to tell Dean anything because he has recently promised, and he is done breaking his promises, that he will never lie or withhold information from Dean again. No matter how trivial or how heartbreaking. 

“I just don't know, Dean. I can’t believe he would now, not after all that’s happened. Then again, Balthazar has every reason to hand Sam over.”

Dean looks away from him, hope near to shattering and Gabriel suffers for it too but the truth is that he does not know, has no clue what Balthazar will end up doing with Sam because his survival basically means either giving him up to Loki and Michael. And then there’s Lucifer to worry about, who may even pose the greatest threat to Sam and the greatest opportunity for forgiveness or redemption or whatever Balthazar does truly want. 

Overall, considering that small private scene he witnessed before rescuing Dean, he’s become more convinced that Balthazar is on their side other than the alternative. He just can’t be sure though, there’s just too much at stake for him to positive of anything at this point. 

“What about you? How are you holding up?”

This may be the stupidest of all questions for him to ask but he opens his mouth and speaks regardless, wanting to see if Dean will stick by his normal guns and tell him that he’s feeling peachy or actually be sick of all the bullshit and say at least one thing that’s on his mind, maybe let Gabriel in to interpret that beautiful head of his. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Gabriel pushes, “He hurt you, Dean. No one gets away from that under my watch.”

_Except me of course._

Gabriel swallows painfully and tears his way out of that past to be here for Dean in the present. Honestly, the only place he wants to be. 

“Not yet," Dean insists and while his words are strong they are also begging, willing the archangel not to push and Gabriel decides from that that maybe it’s better not to. 

That’s not to say that he’ll let it slide forever, he knows part of what will ail Dean in their time to come will sprout from the inability to face past horrors. He shivers when he thinks about this, about having to inevitably quell the pain leaking from every pore, to quench the sense of hopelessness and isolation by bringing this out of him as soon as possible, to face it and have him know that he’ll never be facing it alone. 

Gabriel may not have known it before, may have just told it to himself to calm his longing grace and the still raging holy fire within him, but now he can feel it in every bone of his vessel, every patch of skin that he is here to stay. 

He could never leave Dean in the shadows, whether they were the shadows of hell, Loki’s domain or simply inside his own fragmented mind. 

“Alright," he utters softly, wrapping an arm around Dean from their position on the couch. 

It may be true that the Winchester boy doesn’t move closer, most likely forbids himself the intimate contact his soul craves, but he also doesn’t pull away and Gabriel takes that as a very excellent and hopeful sign. 

After a little while his hand finds Dean’s and he purposely entwines their fingers, squeezing the human’s hand gently because while his words are not much good for doing anything else but being the bearer of somewhat ill news, he still has his touch, his grace extending itself through it to make it more meaningful and powerful. 

This isn’t ephemeral. 

“Dean…”

The human’s lips that suddenly appear on his own are so soft, so real and it gives Gabriel grace shattering shocks like a million jolts of electricity. Dean is slow, gentle and yet the mere motion is even too much for the archangel, not just because of what it is but what it means. 

He had been overly confident that he would be the first to kiss Dean because Gabriel had no certainty that Dean felt the same feelings for him, there was no proof that he was even experiencing half of what Gabriel was on a continuing basis… until now, that is. 

The meaning of this supposed to be simple but enormous gesture screams all these words, thoughts and musings in Gabriel’s head, sets not just his entire vessel on fire, but leaves no part of him whatsoever unaffected. 

Or unloved. 

He can feel Dean breathing inside of him and it says so much by just how shaky and nervous it is, how much more fragile and beautiful it feels in his mouth than Gabriel’s own breath. He is awed by this gorgeous being who is providing him with so much, making him believe in something with every particle of his grace, which is crying out now in pleasure and happiness, in the love for the such raw beauty in the present moment and that there is a life, a human life, a human whom he loves curled up beside him, kissing him deeply, handing over a piece of himself that some will never see, feel or taste. 

When the human pulls away though actually remains very close to the archangel, Gabriel doesn’t mourn because his own eyes latch onto Dean’s vivacious hazels to see such life within them, such hope still that Gabriel can feel himself kneel beneath it, bow down before Dean’s wondrous humanity and deep capacity to love. 

Gabriel doesn’t mimic, his own love comes straight from his grace, a separate entity from the human’s, _his_ human’s, though when it collides with Dean’s he can feel the both of them truly become one. Lovers, soul mates, whatever word can be strong enough to describe them. 

Yet there is nothing, nothing to describe or think or say or do. There is no evidence that needs examining, no reason to describe what they have with useless words that don’t even come close in the end. 

Dean Winchester has always been one for actions, not words…

And this has been one very strong action which Gabriel is all too happy to return. 

He wraps an arm around him and pulls him close, his grace pulsating with life as their lips touch again, his own way this time, deep and hard, cunning in a way that slams their worlds together. The blood running thick through his vessel’s veins pumping fast and strong in his ears, deafening him. They are lost all too completely in the moment. 

_IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou_

Fuck explaining, this… is perfect. 

 

Balthazar sighs in a somewhat contented manner as he strokes back Sam’s overgrown hair, which keeps falling on his forehead despite the careful positioning the angel has laid him on the bed with. 

He reminisces back on a day that seems like such a long time ago, though really couldn’t have been more than maybe several mortal decades, when Gabriel first directed his eyes on this human, claiming he was destined for great and terrible things, that he would be Lucifer’s pet, vessel, his play toy. He had been right about that but look how wrong he was now, now Lucifer was practically done with Sam and had moved on to what he considered to be bigger and better things, primarily Dean. 

And Balthazar had never envisioned that that same archangel could fall so hard for that very same human. 

At the time, his eyes seemed to look nowhere but on Sam’s small, scrawny form. It was Balthazar who had more to ask on the other brother, the one who was already growing muscles and looking after his younger brother nonstop, not to mention already quite a force to be reckoned with. Though Gabriel’s eyes had fallen on him for only a brief moment, claiming he was the one his prodigal brother would depend on, that the eldest Winchester would be an angelic vessel, also destined for great things but things that would never be of concern to him. 

The thing was, as interested as Gabriel was in Sam, Lucifer’s concerns with the mere human were also none of his concern, unless he planned to side with Luci someday and Balthazar had placed that far past him, bottom on his list of potential goals. Yes, Gabriel’s eyes had been trained on Sam when he had shown him to Balthazar, told him everything he did and didn’t want to know, even though the angel didn’t have the slightest reason why his superior even told him these things. 

He had gotten away from heaven after all, run away and became an outlaw, his brothers and humans no longer an issue for him, the Winchester brothers being the last thing he should ever take the time to look at. Yet there he was, trusting Balthazar with his current situation then, not to rat him out or anything, which Balthazar hadn’t because he rather liked the self-obsessed archangel at the time, liked the fact that he could be entirely not self-obsessed as well, and telling him all these things that the angel never would have found out anywhere else. 

_You see him over there? That’s Sam, Luci’s soon to be brand new source of power, inspiration, redemption. A personal marionette. He looks pretty ordinary and harmless right? Wrong, you’d think that way but unfortunately I know what’s to come._

_What about the other one?_

_Who? Dean? Ah, nothing much really. He’ll be Michael’s soon enough, no concern for me. Maybe for you but it’s still a long ways off. He’s nothing special, believe me._

Balthazar didn’t know what it was back then that caused his eyes to linger on the eldest, the strong roiling sensation in his grace that caused Gabriel’s words to sting a little. 

He might have sensed what was to come, the broken state Dean would soon encounter, the ripped away sense of reason, the torn to shreds family he’ll soon be forced to experience. Maybe Balthazar merely felt his future pain and he felt sorry for him. Even though that was hardly unlikely, after all, angels don’t show sympathy, nor do they have that capacity to claim it. 

_Only time will tell._

Only time will tell what? Balthazar wonders that now as he fights back an urge to lovingly tousle Sam’s hair, to pull him closer and run the risk of waking him up.

Now feelings, roles, are switched. The tables have been turned, both the angel and archangel flipped upside down to prove what their true essence screams out from within them, foretells. Gabriel’s once uncaring, passive nature towards Dean has now turned into love. 

Yes, Balthazar can very much read him like an open book. 

And Balthazar’s complete dismissal for Sam has now turned into the early stages of love, adoration, protectiveness. Quite like where Gabriel had started only a few days back. 

He is confused, conflicted, all those other things angels aren’t supposed to feel. 

Yet he had been killed, was resurrected and brought back by someone, he doesn’t yet know who, for a reason probably, which he isn’t aware of either. He has been given these complex feelings to feel that he hasn’t requested but has always wondered about, has seen them in Gabriel a tiny bit long ago and now sees them strongly now, bursting out of his burning grace and Balthazar thinks he can feel it too. 

The longing… the complete need to fight back… to protect Sam… to brush back his hair and plant a gentle kiss on his forehead…

He will need to speak to Gabriel about this. 

 

Gabriel is melting melting melting. 

He feels this uncomfortable surge of anxiety, of the responsibility to heal Dean, not just the parts of him that he realistically can but everything else as well. It seems like too huge of a burden and yet it’s Gabriel who does want this, to whisk the pain away and have Dean back to normal. 

Then again, has Dean ever really been normal? He’s always been put through some sort of physical or emotional distress that’s left Gabriel unbelievably breathless in shock. 

Dean’s fingers are shaking, his body tensing in brief yet unstoppable intervals that make jolts of panic rise up within Gabriel. The human’s eyes are wide and green, mouth twitching at the corner slightly. His eyes are focused on something Gabriel doesn’t know, that Gabriel can’t see. 

“I’m fine.”

Gabriel nods, the human’s been saying this for the past hour repeatedly to the point where after a while the archangel wanted to strangle him but now, he’s pretty much past the point of caring. He knows he should… give a damn that is, not be passive when it’s so clear that Dean is losing his sanity more and more as time progresses, but the alarms aren’t sounding off in his head just yet so he’ll let the words slide through and dissipate for the time being. 

The archangel’s numb himself, unsure of what road he should be taking to get Dean back to recovery, if it’s even time for that now. He knows Dean needs Sam, can literally feel him hold back from saying the words to him, probably knowing it won’t do him much good. 

Gabriel knows he needs to leave Sam with Balthazar. For now, anyway. He has Dean to worry about at the moment. Plus, if he knew Sam was in danger he would definitely not leave him there, instead Balthazar seems like an okay protector for the moment, so he’s willing to let it slide in order to be with Dean. 

Bring him back to life. 

He turns back towards Dean, several inches away from him on the couch, where they’ve probably been for the past few hours. 

“You should get some sleep.”

“No. Never again. I won’t sleep ever again.”

Gabriel sighs softly, all the things a human requires to survive suddenly assaulting his mind, vital things such as fluids, food and sleep. Then again, a human also kinda needs to be emotionally secure and sane, and Dean’s not exactly that at the moment. 

“Well, I’m gonna go lay down a little. I’m beat. Join me if you change your mind.”

He doesn’t even wait for Dean to answer, protest, say he’s perfectly fine again, or just sit there in silence, he immediately stands up and heads for the bedroom. He can’t stand the sight of Dean’s bedroom, especially his bed which still hasn’t been made and is covered with the human’s tears, sweat, and who knows what else. Probably even blood. 

Gabriel shudders and makes a sharp turn, gently pushing the door to Sam’s room open and not quite shutting it behind him, leaving it open only a crack. His feet walk of their own exhausted accord and his body is slamming into the mattress afterwards. 

He’s about to prove the notion that archangels don’t sleep, wrong. 

 

The archangel flips over on his left side from the previous position on his right side restlessly, bumping into a warm and not to mention very real body the moment he does so. 

He doesn’t panic, he’s pretty sick of panicking lately. 

Dreary and exhausted eyes pull themselves open curiously and fall upon a figure close beside him, snoring softly on top of the covers, curled up and apparently very deep in sleep. 

He smiles, continues to do so as his eyes slip shut once more to stay shut. 

Maybe he doesn’t have to worry so much after all. 

 

Gabriel awakens to warm hazel eyes, blinking slowly several times as they move from his own eyes towards the pillows. Towards his back. 

He blinks once, twice, wonders if this is even real. Dean in the same bed as him, Dean staring at him, Dean just still and silent and not even moving away or acting like he normally would in these awkward situations, which is pulling away. 

Gabriel could never even dream of pulling away in this rare and highly bizarre moment. 

_Why didn’t he go back to his own bed last night?_

“Does it hurt?”

The archangel doesn’t even have to think about what he’s talking about. The loss of his wings has been a constant reminder of the sacrifices he has made, something he is willing to forfeit because they don’t mean as much to him as something… someone else does. 

He can still feel them sometimes and if he focuses on them too much his back, especially shoulder blades, start to burn incessantly. It first starts off as a dull ache but then it progresses to a slow and steady burn. Gabriel tries to ignore it but it’s impossible, this is a pain that screams it must be heard and felt from him at every moment. 

When he’s around Dean it goes away, probably because his thoughts are so centered on him, so cluttered with him that there’s room for nothing else. 

Dean is not someone who can be placed aside, shoved in a back pocket to analyze at a further date. No, Dean Winchester is someone who is always at the forefront, always so strong and powerful that it’s almost like he’s not human at all. He’s a presence that demands attention, maintains a hard grip on everything Gabriel is. 

Maybe in reality it’s Dean who actually possesses him. 

Gabriel swallows thickly, the slow burn giving signs of its formation before abruptly dissipating, “Yeah, but not as much as nearly losing you.”

Dean stares at him for another moment, head seeming to sink even more deeply into the pillow, his body and mind appearing to relax more and more as each hour passes and it nearly makes tears come to Gabriel’s eyes. The imaginings of what could still happen to Dean aren’t pressing so heavily on his mind anymore, it seems the very fact that he crawled into the same bed as him, so eerily close that his fingers barely have to reach, is what’s making him finally come to terms with what’s happening and relax in Dean’s presence as well. 

He moves an inch closer… another inch before sitting up steadily, putting his back on display willingly. 

The human he loves continues to stare at his back in an unreadable manner. Gabriel doesn’t bother to waste time determining what’s there, whether it’s guilt or curiosity it really doesn’t matter. 

Dean fingers the scars on his back. Gabriel doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move, only stares up into calm hazels. As gentle as soft waves lapping upon a shore is exactly what his touch feels like. 

Gabriel smiles faintly, bringing up one of his own hands to cup Dean’s cheek in adoration. 

“I love you.”

He moves his fingers away from the archangel’s back and meets his gaze, “I know.” _No, you have no idea._

He says this in his head somewhat sadly yet contentedly. 

 

There are days that he would give anything not to relive. Times when he wishes he could switch an unhappy one with a happy one, not that he has many memorable moments, the only happy ones he’s had have always been with Sam. And Bobby. 

He has no clue how he manages not to cry on these days, how he can keep the levees intact and victorious and doing a damn good job of suppressing the waterworks. It was like this when Bobby was alive and kicking too, it has been like this for a long time and Dean doesn’t understand why Sam has the ability and willingness to cry and his own brother doesn’t possess that. Doesn’t begin to understand why everything in him tells him no, that it isn’t time yet. 

Sam stares at him like he’s a freak in these moments and Dean understands it, he really does. The really shitty times where he really should be crying are a wonder to him as well, the fact that no tears will fall, he’ll just stare over at Sam, curling in on himself, breathing heavily, sobbing loudly and all Dean can do is stare and look away and try to make his own tears come when they won’t. 

His eyes become dazed, glassy, but he knows there’s something about crying that will soothe Sam, as if the both of them doing it will be an admittance that they’re both human, both lose so much and both suffer equally for it. 

Dean wants to cry, even if he does view it as a weakness, which he wouldn’t dare tell Sam because the kid holds too much in at it is, with all that Lucifer crap which hasn’t reoccurred in ages but still… 

Oh yeah, cause his eyes are on the elder brother now. 

He wants to reassure his little brother though, tell him that he’s so fucking sad about everything too but no, he can’t cry, he can’t even open his fucking mouth to utter a single pathetic word. 

So Sam stares at him, probably wondering what it’ll take to make him actually give in. Dean wishes he could tell him, wishes he really knew. 

The only thing he knows is that he has this gaping hole inside of him, and it won’t ever go away.

 

They lie in bed for ages. Dean doesn’t bother to look over at the digital clock, doesn’t really want to know anyway because he wants to forget about time for a nice long while, avoid the stress and painful realization that he’s losing so much of it. 

He’s already what… thirty five years old?

He feels older, believe it or not, feels so torn down and at the end of his road. Dean thinks he might be thinking and feeling ridiculously, but then writes that off because he and Sammy live such reckless lives and Dean would be damned if he said it wasn’t taking its toll on him. He’s still surprised he can manage to get up in the mornings, go on and fight the good fight, let alone examine his possible feelings for Gabriel and his possible feelings for him. 

Anyway, after a while Dean wonders if the two of them are having a staring contest because honestly, not one of them will tear their eyes away. Dean eventually gives in only to have his eyes flit to something that he doesn’t want to look at in the slightest. 

The scars are deep and they’re still healing and Dean knows what scars like that feel like, he knows the agony that made them, the rage that must have boiled within Gabriel, the tears that must have been unleashed because ripping wings off must be the equivalent to ripping limbs off. 

The human doesn’t even want to think about this pain, it makes him feel queasy and wish that Gabriel wasn’t here after all. 

Then again, he really does want him here. 

“I know what happened to Bobby.”

Dean doesn’t glance up from his back as he flinches, catching out of the corner of his eye Gabriel’s hand, moving steadily upward before implanting itself on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

He wonders if the tears will fall this time. 

_How would he know? He was dead after all._

“It doesn’t matter how I know," Gabriel says softly and Dean finally glances over at the clock, reads the bold, red words that read two o’clock. AM. 

He lets his head rest back on the pillow, allowing himself without a hint of reluctance to move closer to Gabriel and soon there are warm arms rubbing strongly and soothingly across Dean’s back, kneading circles into the aching surface that soothe him internally as well. He breathes deeply, not growing lightheaded as he should because being around Gabriel has that kind of effect on him.

Surprisingly, he finds himself talking before he even realizes he’s opened his mouth. 

“It was kinda funny actually”, he stares down at the sheets because it would be too much for him to look anywhere else, “I woke up with the strangest feeling that day. Like something would happen and it was almost like I accepted it. Just blew it off because I assumed it would be me. And I didn’t care about that.”

Gabriel stops rubbing his back. Dean still doesn’t glance up from the calming smoky blue hue of the silk sheets. 

“There was this pressure roiling around in my gut, suffocating me and when I saw them…”

Dean swallows hard. Gabriel starts rubbing his back again, though much more slowly and uncertainly this time. 

“Sam found the case a few days before. I didn’t want to take it, well actually, that’s a lie. I wanted to take it on my own, my heart just wasn’t set on bringing anyone along anymore, I was so… different back then. Still am I guess. Anyway, Sam and Bobby wouldn’t take no for an answer, even if I claimed I could handle one measly shape shifter on my own. And then we were there, middle of the woods, right by this abandoned cabin and there just wasn’t something right about this place, I could sense it and I wanted to leave but Sam… Sam, goddammit, he just couldn’t stop, just had to go check it out.”

He can literally feel Gabriel tensing beside him and it’s so strange but it calms him down, enough for him to go on. 

“He had to go out back and I was so unsure, Bobby went with him, told him not to go but no one was keen on listening to me back then, as unstable and screwed up as I was.”

Dean laughs darkly, doesn’t even bother to look up at Gabriel to no doubt see the pity creasing his forehead and drawing his mouth into a tight and sympathetic line. 

“I just stood there, like an idiot, for I don’t know how long. Like a fucking idiot until I finally got up the guts to head back there.” He shakes his head in disbelief, “There were just so fucking many of them, it was an ambush and we couldn’t hold them off and Sam was already under one of them and I… I don’t know, I just froze and I don’t know what happened after that. One minute there were half a dozen and the next they were all over the ground.”

“And," he swallows hard, “Bobby was practically gone by the time," he chokes back a sob. “He said I was the son he wished he could have had.”

He turns away from Gabriel because this isn’t the moment to give himself a break, not when he knows that most of the horrible things from his past have been caused by him. Not that he knows that this is completely his fault and Gabriel shouldn’t be showing him any form of compassion for it. 

“I was so fucking stupid. It was my fault, it was…”

Gabriel startles Dean out of his wits when he forcefully turns him back to face him. He has forgotten just how strong the archangel can be, just how determined when he wants something. It kinda reminds Dean of himself, although Gabriel could beat him any day. 

He’s expecting Gabriel to tell him to shut up and grow up, to stop turning this relatively nice moment in bed together, not nearly as dirty as it sounds, into a pity fest and Dean will most likely agree with every spoken word and clearly show it. 

The archangel doesn’t say these words though, nor does he reprimand Dean in any other way. Instead his voice is gentle, protective, filled with an adoration that convinces him this is reality. 

They are in bed together, they are opening up, they are… 

In love?

“No, Dean," Gabriel’s hand only very lightly forces his head up and Dean is eager to focus on those amber eyes he always finds so easy to melt into. Not only easy but appealing. 

“It’s not your fault.”

“Sam could never look at me the same way again, like I was some sort of monster or something…”

“Stop," Gabriel warns before planting a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose, preventing him from breaking himself even further, “you are not a monster, Dean. You are beautiful and I love you shamelessly for it. I’d forsake all my brothers for you, all that I am for you. You get that, don’t you?”

Dean starts to nod but before he can form a sufficient answer, the archangel pulls him so closely to him that he is near suffocation. Until he’s filled with such blindingly happy satisfaction and love when Gabriel starts kissing him, choosing to start off slow but deep nonetheless, so deep and crushing and fearless that it takes Dean’s very breath away, melts him into a useless pulp of pulsing heat and craving energy so when he starts kissing back, he feels as if he might explode. Explode inside Gabriel’s passion and longing.

The archangel wraps strong arms around him, ones that very nearly jolt his sobbing heart back to life with a million jolts of electricity in the many different hues and brilliances of fireworks. 

The human can feel his frostbitten spirit melt at that mere gesture.

When they pull away, both breathing hard which is slightly shocking to Dean because he would have thought Gabriel couldn’t become out of breath for any reason, they lock their eyes together and it’s no longer possible for Dean to not gaze into his, to not become lost in them because he needs that exact release right now. 

He wonders if… in time, Gabriel could bring his soul back to life. 

_I’m sick of being conflicted… of believing lies that sound far more appealing than this fucking monotonous reality._

_I want Gabriel… I trust him… I don’t want to be alone anymore._

“I love you," the archangel who should have no reason to love him breathes in his ear, running warm hands along both his arms, his grace extending confidently and this time, Dean takes all of it in, in only a moment’s notice, swallows it down and cherishes it because this is what Gabriel is offering. 

Everything he is. 

It’s not like Dean hasn’t heard those three words before, though it feels like the first time because he can sense deep down within him that they are true. 

Truth not lies. 

Beauty not agony. 

Possible reciprocation not denial. 

He knows there are so many things he should be thinking about, growing suspicious of Gabriel practically throwing his brother at Balthazar, of keeping him away from him for his own personal intents. He knows there are so many feelings he should be feeling right now, that he’s still trying to atone for all the deaths he’s caused, that happiness and the want, the unadulterated need for pleasure shouldn’t be an option made available to him. He can’t care though, there’s a part of him that he hasn’t given into for so long. 

A part that wants Gabriel and as soon as he muses on this, Dean loses himself in another kiss and sinks into the archangel’s voluptuous embrace. 

_Maybe being looked after, loved by an archangel isn’t so bad after all._

And then after this thought that feels like a billion fireworks exploding within him, Dean can feel himself swimming swimming swimming, farther and farther away from the oppressive shoreline of reality he has tolerated and sunken under for so long, swimming swimming swimming and it’s almost as if Dean will never sink again, for he is kept above the surface by Gabriel and Gabriel alone. 

All Dean can do is smile, and then there is pristine happiness, peace and all he does is keep on swimming swimming swimming because Gabriel is beautiful and perfect and all he needs right now. 

He loves Gabriel. 

And maybe someday soon, he’ll have the guts to say it. 

 

Sam doesn’t think there’s ever a time when he doesn’t think of his brother. 

Sometimes he wonders what the hell is wrong with him, other times he actually worries because of his love for his brother that has lasted fiercely even through his Stanford years.

Normally he can read Dean like an open book, or at least used to plenty of years back, but now there’s a definite certainty that he never knows quite what’s on his brother’s mind. His face is always blank, eyes always vacant and glassy yet not leaking, which causes Sam to cry for the both of them because the other can’t seem to, causes Sam to waste away in his tears and when he’s not doing that jogging and hustling and telling himself not to think of Dean. 

He fingers the twenty dollar bills when he needs something real to focus on because Dean is slipping away, crushes the plastic water bottles in his hands, losing himself in the crackling sound formed by the mere action. 

Tunes down his senses cause half the time he can’t see with all the tears in his eyes that he knows shouldn’t be there, can’t smell anything but the sweat drenching his body in the midst of workout after constant workout and the whiskey literally resting in his elder brother’s every pore. 

He goes on and tries not to think too much, let’s Dean drown himself in every bottle, every last drop he can get his hands on. Let’s him do it cause what right does he have to tell him otherwise?

It’s not like he’s expecting himself to stay sane. 

Sometimes Sam wonders if Dean even sees him, the distance they’ve created unwillingly yet not unknowingly, the falling out they’re having and yet they always remain within an arm’s reach, staying in shitty motels and lying to themselves that they’re good people doing good things, yet half the time they don’t even hunt and Dean spends all the money that’s not legally theirs on whiskey while Sam feeds that habit, that _need_ with late night games of pool cause sleep doesn’t seem to come. 

Sam works out, stays away from alcohol, starts watching Dean out of the corner of his eye when he remembers, not with watchful eyes as he used to. He runs miles and miles as if this will put the proof behind him that he and Dean are falling, slowly yet still falling, away from each other. Into silence. He does pushups and sit ups and stretches stretches stetches till he’s pretty fucking positive his limbs will pop off. 

He ignores Dean because Dean starts to ignore him, turning away for another glass of scotch, unscrewing the cap off another bottle and sometimes too lazy to get his ass out of bed to grab a glass, Sam remembering not to notice, not to give a fuck because that’s who they’ve become. 

That’s who they are now. 

Clones of previous brothers that might have mattered, though Sam can’t be too sure at this point. 

This is precisely why it’s not surprising that Dean freezes on the spot when they reach their destination, that he tells Bobby not to leave the exact spot in which the three of them are standing, warns Sam of the same thing but it’s sent to deaf ears. 

Considering Dean doesn’t talk much anymore, you can’t really blame Sam for not listening to his supposed advice on something that is so natural to them, hunting, being here. It would leave Sam speechless if only he didn’t know better. 

If only he didn’t know his brother. 

He follows Bobby without a word from his lips, hand on the trigger of his pistol, eyes trained on the older hunter’s back and not bothering to look back at his own brother. What good would it do anyway?

The youngest will criticize his actions in one way though. He shouldn’t have been as bold as he had been that day, shouldn’t have turned his back on his brother like he was nothing more than a bystander that mattered little to him, shouldn’t have left him back there with the effects of what Sam broke, quite possibly the last important words Dean will ever speak, the end of all the concern and trust. 

Sam might as well have taken Dean’s heart and crushed it himself that day, Bobby scarcely paying attention because maybe he was as fed up with Dean and life as Sam was.   
The realization does end up smacking Sam in the face though, at the very moment when a shape shifter walks out from the safety of the trees with five more following. Sam thinks of how stupid he was to disregard Dean, the fact that he may die, never be able to apologize to him takes hold of Sam so fiercely that his breath is taken away and the consequences of that are fatal. 

He’s pinned under one of the damn things, they’re faster than he realized, before he can even think of pulling the trigger. The gun lies next to him, out of reach and he can’t help but think that it’s not really doing much good there. 

His fingers reach for it desperately, praying for Dean, for a miracle, unable to see where Bobby is, knowing it doesn’t matter because he isn’t gonna be doing anything if he doesn’t get free. 

Sam’s eyes are trained on the one object he needs, his fingers never stop reaching, never…

And then someone is pulling the skin walker on top of him away and his eyes follow the movement as Dean slams the thing into the nearest tree, gutting it with his knife before turning towards another and slitting its throat, shooting another in the head with a silver bullet nearly at the same time. 

When Dean turns to him, face drenched in blood, eyes glistening and seeming to smile… Sam gasps. 

He gets up on his feet and watches breathlessly as Dean tackles another to the ground, slamming the silver knife into its chest, twisting it and grinning from what Sam can see, hands welcoming more blood and continuing to twist until Sam’s vision grows blurry at the rage that has suddenly taken hold of his brother, how it sickens him and nearly makes him gag as Dean hand moves in one swift motion and chops the thing’s head off, getting up on his feet in one blurry motion and ramming his body into the last one, sending it crashing into a tree, Dean finishing it off several moments later. 

Sam closes his eyes to escape the blood and his brother for a brief moment. 

When he opens them back up, he almost wishes he could have kept them shut forever. 

The only thing Dean can see is a chaotic blending of noises, colors and cluttered images. It seems like everything is attacking him, desperate for a drop of his blood and Sammy’s body cold and dead on the dirt. He shuts his whole body down, allows just the rage to fill him, a wrath he has scarcely experienced, a determination so ferocious that he hasn’t had in months, maybe even years and it almost makes him feel bad for the opposing team. They’re about to get their asses kicked. 

Dean closes himself off to the world in a way that forsakes enough reality to allow him to only see the imminent threat, to not think of anything else. The rage feels good, as ephemeral as it is, and he very much enjoys the taste of it as it surges in his blood. 

_Do what you were born to do. Get some._

And with that final thought… Dean charges. 

The expectation being placed on him to look upon the face and hands of his brother is astounding, a lingering temptation that he loathes, tastes bitter in his mouth and scars his throat beyond repair. 

He gags this time around, wondering if he’s ever seen this much blood before. 

When he comes back down to reality it feels strangely like falling down into his physical body. His limbs ache and feel unused, mind marred with thick, red splashes of blood that meld together into the shape of his body, which only causes anger to flush an even brighter red through him, a similar sensation to those days of drinking demon blood, an addiction he still has just hasn’t succumbed to in ages. A passion he longs to feed yet maybe this subtle wrath will fuel him plenty for now. 

His head turns away from a sight he doesn’t wish to see. 

The last skin walker lies on the ground beside their fallen surrogate father, every limb seeming to be intact though blood leaks out of its chest and head. Sam looks away, the beast not worth his time, and focuses on Bobby, not even daring to glance over at his brother for the moment. 

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to look at his brother… again. 

Sam doesn’t know what he feels when Bobby’s shaking and weakened hand clutches Dean’s navy blue coat which hangs off him a little too much, a sign Sam can only scarcely recognize that his brother has fallen harder than expected. He doesn’t know what to think when the man who has always treated him like a son only gives him a brief, meaningful look before turning back to his prodigal brother. 

The youngest screams inside, suddenly doesn’t care about previous events, can only think of Bobby’s death, the tears stinging his vicarious eyes and streaming down his burning cheeks, his eyes flooding over instantly yet still they manage to find their way towards his brother, face blank, eyes wide yet they show no remorse. It’s in Dean’s eyes that Sam sees death, the very essence of it, the snuffing of Sam’s compassion. With everything that has happened, Sam still finds himself able to collapse over Bobby’s body, screaming sobbing sacrificing the last shred of decency he has left for that last touch of something that has thrived, breathed, lived up until two seconds ago. 

Sam wonders if this changes anything. 

Probably not. 

 

“That’s when I say the words.”

Confusion falls upon the human’s face, “What words?”

Balthazar sighs impatiently, casting a brief look at Gabriel to get his thoughts across exactly, that he chose a pretty dense human. 

“The words in the script of course!”

“What script? What the hell are you talking about?”

Dean is glancing at him like he’s a complete idiot and Balthazar snaps his fingers loudly because of him, directs the packet of paper, when it happens to appear, which is a little slower than it used to considering he was just resurrected and has to get a feel for his… abilities yet again, to smack Dean playfully hard in the face and then drop down forcefully to the ground. 

The human growls and wipes a hand across his face tiredly, staring down at the paper before glaring up at Balthazar, giving him his best ‘I’m going to kill you’ look. 

Unfortunately for him, Balthazar thinks happily, it doesn’t work too well because he’s a human and he’s an angel. Death glares don’t work out too well around him. 

However, Gabriel happens to give him a vicious glare himself and that does have an effect on Balthazar, enough for him not to laugh in Dean’s face to provoke him further. 

Maybe he had been wrong, maybe Gabriel was even closer to Dean than he had ever thought imaginable. 

“Well, don’t just stare at it. Pick it up and get reading it.”

Dean glares at him for another moment before bending down and picking it up, flipping through the twenty pages quickly and angrily. 

“What the hell is all this?” He shakes the paper hard and throws it back at Balthazar, where it slams into his chest and flops back to the ground. 

Poor abused paper, Balthazar considers. 

“I’ve told you already," he shakes his head in astonishment at Dean’s stupidity and quite annoying personality. 

It’s a wonder Gabriel’s drawn to him like he is. 

He continues, “It’s our script. You study your lines and I’ll study mine. Mind you, you won’t have many lines but you need to study it anyway. It’s our way in and our way out.”  
Balthazar throws it back to him and Dean catches it this time, skimming the first few pages, his eyebrows rising in what looks to be annoyed amazement. There is silence for several moments before Dean grows frustrated once more. The angel wonders why he’s even including him in this after all. That’s right, Dean’s his bargaining chip. 

His only bargaining chip. 

“There’s like fifty fucking pages! What, are we having some luncheon with the freak that I don’t know about?”

“You know…”

“No! I don’t know, plus, I’m still talking. I think I’ve made myself pretty clear already, we’re going to get Sam back and that’s final. Nothing needs to be discussed, hell, nothing even needs to be said. We’re not standing here right now and considering making a bargain, I’m through with that bullshit. We. Are. Getting. Sam. Back.”

The angel really wants to smite the human right about now, send his ass up to heaven and deal with the repercussions, particularly Gabriel finding a way to destroy his own angelic ass. He’s tired of being patient and sick of holding his tongue. It’s time right about now that Dean sees the entire picture. 

“Yes, Dean, I am perfectly aware of that. However, you’re far dumber than I thought you to be if you think we’re going to simply walk right in there and snatch Sam out of his wretched hands. Don’t be bloody stupid, words are trickery, as Gabriel over there all too well knows.”

Dean glances over at Gabriel and something short but incredibly powerful passes between them that the angel can’t quite interpret. Doesn’t even know if he wants to interpret.

Balthazar sighs yet again, probably for the thousandth time in the last few minutes, “Just read it, Dean. At least know what you’re getting yourself, _me,_ into.”

His nerves are shot, as he believes Dean would say it, as he walks outside to get some fresh air, away from Dean clouding up the room and his head, giving him the exact kinds of doubts he doesn’t want to have. 

He never thought he would be here right now, engaging in a rescue with Dean Winchester, someone he shouldn’t be concerned with, should not be helping, should not feel protective towards. Balthazar stares up at his beloved heaven, the place where Michael dwells as well as the place Gabriel all too willingly abandoned. His home.

The angel turns back towards the motel/hotel, stares at the two figures he left behind when he exited. An archangel and his supposed human, though Balthazar thinks, rather knows that Dean could never belong to anyone, not even an archangel because he is just that stubborn and just that uncontrollable.

Yet Balthazar can see Gabriel trying, not really to claim him but love him, trying with all his might.


	8. Standing Hollow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Part 1 of Chapter 8. There will be a Part 2 before Chapter 9.   
> I really wanted to pick a song that fit what Dean had to go through being his master’s pet, the torment and trickery, so I thought this one would be perfect. I’ve been dying to use it in something because it’s such a gorgeous, creepy and twisted song. This chapter is a bit of a shorter one, with quick and choppy parts because I wanted to get more in touch with Dean’s time in hell. There will be a part two that’s around the same length. I’m focusing on past moments, especially Loki with these couple of chapters. As always, hope you enjoy.   
> Song Featured: Title of the chapter and lyrics come from Korn’s “Falling Away From Me”.

_~Today… it’s still fading_  
That’s when I’m enslaved  
I flirt with suicide  
Sometimes kill the pain  
I can always say, ‘It’s gonna be better tomorrow’  
Falling away from me~ 

Someone is hurting him, tearing into his flesh like it’s nothing more than a hunk of meat.

He thinks it might be Loki yet he can’t come to any conclusions because even though he kidnapped him, took him into his horrific clutches, his eyes are closed tightly because the pain he’s being forced to face head on, with no hopes of booze or meds to dull its incessant agony, is beyond excruciating, way past mind controlling. 

Dean feels like he’s dying and for all he knows he is, dying slowly and in a certain way that proves it will never cease, the pain will always be a part of him because the pain is him. The pain is his personal lullaby, something that hums its stinging clarity to the human, that screams in a monstrous voice of all the things Dean isn’t, all the things he longs to be, all the mistakes he’s made, how much of a fuck-up he is and how he doesn’t deserve anything. 

He’s long past the point of screaming, of praying for just a millisecond of rest or reprieve, of wondering when it will all end because it’s been made clear to him that it will never end. His voice is raw and blood bubbles up within his throat which would make yelling impossible anyway. He’s long past the point of sobbing because the tears have long since dried on his face, courtesy of the amount of time they’re had to dissipate and the heat that has melted them away into his sunburned and very nearly blackened to a crisp face.   
His hands are filled with blood, his own. Red red blood so dark, so real, so clear that it’s long past the point of astounding. No matter what the blood just keeps appearing after it dries into his skin, so much of it that Dean nearly chokes on the sight every time he dares to open his eyes. 

His thoughts are currently away from Gabriel, the archangel that left him to this fate and still he wants him, loves him, forgives him even though he knows he shouldn’t. 

The human’s relentless attacker, actions full of a mix of rage and lust, whispers his name in his ear and suddenly Dean recognizes it, the all too familiar sound that he remembers from long ago. 

Not Alistair. 

Lucifer. 

His eyes burst open and Loki is not there. Instead, it’s still hell and there’s flames and blood in abundance everywhere he glances. Lucifer is hovering above him, grinning maliciously at him, far more evil and terrifying and utterly haunting than the Shadowman ever was. 

Dean suddenly surprises his senses and screams for the trillionth time… high pitched and infinitely long as the devil’s quickly appearing black claws sink into the skin of his chest, his long sharp teeth following soon after. 

_Gabriel…_

_Sam…_

_Loki…_

_Someone…_

 

Dean awakens with a jolt, a scream tearing its way through his mangled throat and causing him to whimper in pain. His chest, a slashed up and bloodied mess before is now completely healed, devoid of any visible scars and no longer emanating pain. Meanwhile, his head screams its dissent, the onset of the splitting headache accompanying him earlier now raging and affecting his vision full force. 

Gabriel is suddenly above him, fingers going for his forehead and gently stroking his hair back, wrapping around his thigh and slipping down his ragged lips. The archangel’s own lips are drawn in a firm line, as if determined for causes unknown to the human. He wants to try to figure the archangel out but he’s too tired right now. 

Dean opens his mouth yet Gabriel pushes a finger to his half-open lips, shushes him quietly and scoots closer to him on the small cot he lies on. 

The human can’t read what’s in his eyes, can’t determine what he’s thinking or feeling or about to do yet Dean assumes he can trust him. This is Gabriel after all, here to comfort him after a particularly bad dream of his time in hell. He believes this is normal though he can’t quite remember Gabriel ever doing this, ever deeming this normal. Yet his mind tells him that Gabriel is often sweet and caring towards him, which is why he begins to fully relax under his care. 

Then he can feel the archangel manhandling him, forcing him back down onto the bed and suddenly Dean thinks it’s a joke, believes he will just tell him he needs to lay down and rest but he never does. Dean can see through his blurry vision and the haze in his mind, some sturdy rope now held in his hands. 

Gabriel laughs with such evil intent at the horror that flashes across the human’s face at the sight of him securing his feet to the bedposts of the cot, tying the ropes around his ankles so tightly that they cut into the sensitive skin instantly.

“So fragile,” Gabriel hisses, tying his arms down next. “So lovely.”

Dean chokes down the scream in his throat, he knows it won’t help, that Sam isn’t here. 

Sam’s long gone now. 

“It’ll be all right, Dean. As long as you do exactly as I say.”

Dean whimpers in pain as Gabriel advances onto his restrained form. As soon as he reaches his torn and bloodied lips, worsening them further with kisses, Dean watches in horror as he abruptly morphs into Lucifer. His grin haunting his nightmares till the end of all days. 

 

The blood is thick and stagnant and Dean is choking on it. The devil laughs in the background, enjoying Dean’s distress, finding such never-ending pleasure in it. 

He finds the door again, the only one that’s always unlocked, the one he always falls for, hoping there’s a different ending this time, something that’s not hell on the other side of the door. He walks through a while in the shadows, hiding from the demons all around him yet he’s aware they can see him, that their laughs are not only for the souls, the broken and battered bodies that they torture perennially. 

The deeper he goes through the kingdom of hell, it gets inevitably worse, the more pain that is inflicted on him, leads him nearer to dropping down to his knees. He’s stronger than that though, he’s been off his game too much before and this time he wants to fight back, even if all the evidence out there claims it doesn’t matter. 

It matters to him. 

He’s surprised to notice that it takes Lucifer longer than expected to realize he’s gone. Then again, considering the human is the focus of his attention, the only soul currently in hell that he wants, claims, spends all his depraved time with, he’s probably just toying with him. 

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Dean turns and a split second later the devil’s hand is around his throat, choking the life out of him, making him wish for death as he always does. Demons laugh all around them, chuckling darkly and inching closer, feeding their dissolute minds with the indulgence of his suffering. 

Lucifer is king, he can do to Dean whatever he wishes. The human knows this, knows none of those other demons would dare to touch him unless the devil himself were to wish it. It makes him feel just that tiny bit better, however, their melted, abhorrent faces don’t. 

“Let’s split, why don’t we?”

Dean’s eyes widen in fear as Lucifer’s grip tightens and they are whisked away to his personal room, the very one with the dreaded cot, getting tied down to the bed for hours on end, the ropes cutting into his wrists and ankles leaving him numb and hovering on the edge of insanity. 

The shadows aren’t even dark, they’re blood red and somehow he can never escape the flames that Lucifer often shows him outside the massive window, ones he can conjure up if Dean struggles, says something he doesn’t like, flaying the sensitive skin off his arms, whatever his kink happens to be that day. Tugging on his already ruptured mouth to draw blood, to drink it down in greedy gulps, like a freaking vampire. 

Yet vampires can only drink so much… it seems Lucifer can never get enough. 

The actions represent a twisted love, one quite like what Alistair claimed so proudly, so _vainly,_ he shared with him. The kissing and squeezing, perpetually drawing blood, always causing tears and heated, dripping sweat to rain down off his so very human yet so very not form. 

And always Gabriel, he always has to disguise himself as Gabriel because he knows how much it disturbs, aggravates, _kills_ the headstrong human. 

“Turn back, you’re not him,” he grits out through his teeth. 

Lucifer chuckles and twirls all around Dean, pretending to show off the archangel’s form yet Dean knows he hates what it stands for, hates the fact that Dean will always have that tiny hope, that the human will always have a heart tucked away for Gabriel and not for him. 

Not that he lets it show… too much. 

“He does have a lovely vessel, doesn’t he? I was pretty disappointed to see he snatched it up before I could.”

Dean’s eyes darken, “You will never be him.”

“Right Deano. Because I will always be better. More suited,” his fingers run down the side of Dean’s neck, “for you.”

He lets him go and he drops down hard onto the cold concrete floor. Dean feels pain, like he always does, but isn’t able to grasp onto the source of it, not that it amounts to anything, before another thought he’s pressed up against the wall. 

“Let’s see what makes you tick. Why Gabriel is so drawn to you.”

“You’ll never get it. Never.” Dean chokes back a sob, allows the feel of Gabriel, the _real_ Gabriel to fill him up, back to his whole self, his warmth, his love, the way it felt to have his eyes on him. To know that even he, a stupid, useless human, could mean something to an almighty archangel.

“I’ll figure it out. Just wait.”

_No… you never will._

Dean promises. Dean begs as he succumbs to the torment. 

 

He wakes up to Gabriel cooling him down with a wet washcloth, running it smoothly over his face and down to his neck in slow motions, humming lightly under his breath and it calms Dean down, recognizing the whispered words as Enochian, not to mention as Gabriel’s incredibly soothing voice. 

Dean looks up at him for several moments, enjoying the archangel’s eyes on him, how they wipe the cloth gently over his naked body embarrassingly though meticulously, going on like this for a while before moving back up to his face. 

He stares at the flickering walls, dark but with flames dancing upon them in hues of deep gold and vivid orange. The flames are gentle, seeming to lap at the concrete and never coming closer to his vulnerable, restrained form. 

Dean lets himself believe because he needs it. 

“Gabriel?” He whispers with half a breath. 

His throat is a ravaged mess, his body not faring much better. The archangel stares down at him with those massive hazel eyes, Dean drowns in them a moment before he sees it, thinks it might be his imagination but then again how could it be? How can he fall for it again and again, how can he have so much blind hope? How can he not see it before it smacks him hard in the face?

Gabriel’s eyes flash black for only an instant yet that’s all he needs. Deep dark pools of black that he could have fallen into and drowned if they hadn’t morphed back into gold when they did. Dean pushes away yet Lucifer holds him still, isn’t quite to the point of grinning yet, wants to make the human, his human suffer longer, have one last gorgeous taste of belief before he yanks it away from his parched lips and dank mind. 

Emotions he can so easily drown in, a silence that is killing him, one last taste that he always needs yet will forever pay heavily for. 

“Lucifer.”

“No Dean. It’s me. Gabriel.”

His voice is so convincing that it could only hurt him, only make him want to sob uncontrollably from where he lies on this damn cot in the middle of the room, could only make him want Gabriel more. 

Each day that goes by he remembers less and less of the archangel, of how he really felt, of how he came across to the then damaged and still damaged human. 

“Stop lying. Just stop. I know it’s you, you son of a bitch.” 

Lucifer finally gives himself away, “It’s so funny how naïve you are, Deano. How hopeful you get. Gabriel really has seduced you.”

And that’s when he imagines he completely dies inside. 

Dean’s too out of it now to notice the little differences between the two. Too hopeless and dead tired to distinguish the real Gabriel from the fake one. Too much in pain and far past the point of caring. 

It’s too late for any of that now. 

 

“I love you,” Gabriel whispers heavily in his ear. “And I want you.”

“Gabe…” He starts, the pain increasing in his head again but he thinks he can feel the onset of the fog clearing, the need to tell Gabriel that he cares about him.

That he doesn’t overlook Gabriel’s obvious need to be near him, take care of him. 

The archangel shushes him, strokes a finger slowly down his cheek. An icy cold finger, one that burns as it touches Dean’s skin. 

No, this isn’t Gabriel at all. Lucifer… like it always is. Someone he can never have any hope of escaping. 

“Be a good boy, Dean,” he hisses in his ear. 

The human struggles, tries to pull away even though knowing it’s a lost cause, that even if he were to escape from this cot, from this room, from the devil himself then he would have absolutely nowhere to go. He’d stumble out on the chaos and gore that is hell, like he always does, trying all the closed and locked doors as he trudges down that particular darkened corridor, only to find the only one that is unlocked welcoming him to the inescapable fire. Lucifer popping up only moments later, torturing him by placing horrifying words and images in his head, dragging his favorite blade down the skin of his arm and chest, cutting deeply and when he tries to pull away he grabs him, hard, tight, his grip burning like acid and cutting away everything that ever mattered.

Cutting away Gabriel. 

“Be good for your master.”

Dean swallows, hard. He can’t find the effort, the strength to create a decent scream, something more than just a yelp. What use would it be anyway?

“Please,” he begs. “Please just let me go.”

Gabriel… Lucifer, who he wishes so badly would just change back into that latter form, into who he really is, smiles sympathetically before his lips continue to curve upward into a wickedly gruesome grin. He swipes one of his long fingernails, burned to black, down Dean’s exposed neck, drawing blood and it hurts. It hurts far worse than it should, than it usually would, than Dean could ever have imagined. 

He starts to believe that maybe Gabriel was Lucifer all along. 

 

“Please,” he gasps, tears forming in his eyes for the first time in decades. “Please don’t hurt me anymore.” It’s not Dean Winchester’s style, pleading for an ending, but he’s been torn apart too much to be himself now. 

He suddenly feels like he’s back to the first day, where he couldn’t stop crying and pleading inside, thinking of ways to escape when he should have known all along, before Lucifer showed it to him in agonizing ways, that the devil could easily travel through the muck in his mind, find that minute sparkle of hope and crush it in his grip. Just like he crushed every part of Dean that was human. 

“Hey,” Gabriel’s voice cracks at that word yet Dean can recognize how strong it is, how real it feels this time even though that’s what he tells himself every time. 

Dean breathes, grows sick of believing that this is really Gabriel. Doesn’t respond, doesn’t even acknowledge that he heard the words in the first place. He feels the archangel move, look down at him but Dean doesn’t want to meet his gaze, like he always falls under the temptation of doing. 

Doesn’t want to give away his hope again, surrender it to the hands of someone who longs to make him ache and writhe and scream. 

“You’re alright, Dean.”

_Yeah, no thanks to you._

“I’m not going to hurt you.” 

He doesn’t know why the moment isn’t ending yet, isn’t sure whether he wishes to be filled in. 

Hours go by yet it seems like days. Gabriel, or rather Lucifer, doesn’t ever leave his side, doesn’t morph from one body to the other yet stays permanently in the archangel’s gorgeous form. 

Dean wonders whether Lucifer loves him now, has turned truly gentle after all the hours and hours of torture he was forced to endure, that racked his mind and tore apart his already shredded insides. 

Gabriel’s hand finds the back of his neck and the human flinches, knows better than to pull away yet he still flinches, knows he should feel too tired to still be able to do that, to still care, think that it makes any difference yet his body still reacts that way. Gabriel pulls the hand back, Dean wants to scream at him why, why he is acting so differently now, so… nice. 

The archangel tries again and this time he doesn’t flinch, just groans a little under his breath as the fingers start to move hesitantly, carefully and when Dean flinches away at the movement growing sudden, Gabriel pulls away. This goes on for a good twenty minutes or so, Dean driving himself insane as he ponders with a mind that aches to be forced to do so, why Lucifer isn’t manhandling him already, isn’t hurting him by words or actions. 

He just keeps on trying and trying and trying and by doing so he is hurting the human, allowing that terrible hope to come back and bite him in the ass. It’s coming soon, another realization that this isn’t Gabriel. Dean can feel it, can taste it with such clarity now. 

And then Gabriel kisses him, on the back of his neck, his forehead, his drenched in sweat hair, shushes him gently as he sobs unwillingly into his shoulder, mumbles that he is tired, so tired. 

“Gabe?”

“Yes?”

“Is it really you?”

He trails several fingers down the human’s aching check, kisses the spot where they lingered with his soft lips when touch no longer is enough and sensation becomes everything.  
This time his fingers don’t burn, his lips don’t cause damage, there is not and might never be again that gleam of pure evil in his eyes. 

Actions will always speak louder than words. He knows this because he is a pro at this. 

Dean falls asleep as the archangel rocks him back and forth in his arms, silent tears streaming through his short hair and trailing down his face slowly, painfully. It’s not the pain that Dean’s experienced before though, it’s the pain of realizing that this isn’t Lucifer. It’s Gabriel, and if he didn’t know it by those tears that kept on mysteriously appearing, marked by the tear tracks down his face and the cold, yet at a normal temperature droplets lodged in his head, in the spikes of his hair, then he most certainly knows it the next morning, waking up to Gabriel curled tightly next to him, fast asleep, no fire in sight, no screams of bodies roasting in that fire. 

He is finally home. 

 

They lie on the couch, Gabriel’s fingers entwined in Dean’s spiky hair like they belong there, hand finding the human’s after a few moments and squeezing it reassuringly. It took them a while but they finally managed to drag themselves out of bed, Gabriel pushing Dean because of his stomach growling and his eyes constantly remaining open after endless on and off hours of sleep. Nothing had felt better than pulling Dean towards him as they slunk out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, making something quick for Dean, scrambled eggs and toast, per request, for him even though he really doesn’t know much about cooking. 

Nothing had felt more right than letting the human curl up in his embrace, finally giving away his trust and inner turmoil of feelings he’s so used to feeling being overtaken by new ones, ones he once felt he had no right to experience. Soon this will lead to lust, Gabriel can feel it growing ever so cautiously in Dean’s relaxed and so very human form, the way he looks at the archangel now, the desperation in his hazels and the wish to share more of himself. 

The archangel grows nervous when wondering about this, playing it all out in his head, though when the time comes he will partake in it greedily and with great appreciation.  
The thing is, Dean deserves everything, everything he could ever offer and Gabriel is not a fool to this certain truth. Rather, he bows down before it endlessly and proudly. 

Gabriel knows he’s changed, big time, to be experiencing these things but he is only careless. With Loki out there wanting Dean as much as he does, it only gives him more reason to smother Dean senseless with every once held back breath of love he can conjure up. 

Dean licks his lips, he’s nervous, tensing up, Gabriel can tell because the first moment the human morphed from that relaxing state he had helped to conjure up, back to the state he hates, Dean scared and vulnerable and generally hurting, a million vicious sirens went off in his head. He turns to his human, wondering, always wondering if he should choose to say words or simply wait for Dean. 

“I should tell you something,” Dean clears his throat awkwardly, shifting on the couch and Gabriel moves with him even though he suspects that Dean may be trying to move away from him. 

His eyes grow wider, far more curious because he knows this is not a Dean about to say that he doesn’t deserve Gabriel, that Dean’s hopefully died about a day back. He thinks this may be the Dean who’s about to tell him something beyond meaningful, some secret that he hasn’t shared with him quite yet. And it looks like it has nothing to do with love… or lust. 

_Or himself for that matter._

“It wasn’t Loki.”

“What…?” He begins but Dean cuts him off.

“Loki had nothing to do with it.”

Gabriel honestly can’t believe his words, has no clue whatsoever what Dean is even talking about. What does he mean that Loki had nothing to do with it? Nothing to do with what? He’s had everything to do with Dean’s almost complete demise. How could the human ever claim differently?

“Dean,” he takes Dean’s shoulders lightly in his grip, “he was trying to _rape_ you. I don’t…”

The human pulls away and the archangel is more confused than ever before in his life. 

“You don’t get it. You’re not listening,” Dean spits out and Gabriel can tell he’s trying to keep himself under control. 

For what reason though, he can’t say. 

He feels more lost than ever before because suddenly Dean seems to want nothing to do with him. Not his hands on him, nor his eyes and Gabriel just doesn’t understand. _Can’t_ understand. 

Dean swallows hard, fidgets a little more on the couch, Gabriel’s hands slightly extending towards him again until the human backs even further away and eventually gets up.   
Gabriel stares up at him, slightly panicking but also teetering dangerously on the edge of impatience. Something which he must force himself to keep under check. Talking about Loki is making him want to rip the monster’s throat out, and Dean claiming that Loki did nothing directs his rage towards him, which he doesn’t appreciate in the slightest bit. 

What can he do though? Dean isn’t making any sense and Gabriel suddenly wants him back in his hold, can’t stand the sight of him backing away, can’t tolerate the words Dean’s speaking, what he’s trying to get across that could be none other than a lie. 

Gabriel follows him and sends Dean in an even more frantic state, leads him to nearly tripping over a discarded shoe on the floor, stumbling and bumping into the wall, eyes wide as they latch onto Gabriel’s uncertainly. 

It’s like the last few hours… days never happened at all. 

“Dean,” he warns. “Talk to me.”

The human shakes his head, ever more frantic and Gabriel is greatly disturbed at the sudden turn of events, of emotions.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Gabriel pushes himself closer.

“Just give me some space, okay?”

The archangel suddenly gets the notion not to give him any space at all, for it could greatly damage their relationship, what they’ve been building up for all this time. Cause Dean to start having doubts again, wondering if Gabriel’s really here to love him and not something more. He can’t allow room for these things, can’t give Dean over to negative thoughts when he wants him so badly that it burns. 

Gabriel reaches for Dean’s hand though Dean pulls back again, heading towards the kitchen, head shaking back and forth and it sets the archangel on edge a little. 

“Dean, tell me…” He keeps his voice even, gentle, though he knows that it’s a futile effort to suppress the inner rage, not directed at Dean exactly but the emotions that struggle to gain control of him.

“No,” Dean breathes, horror and realization battling for control over his vulnerable features. “Not yet, I shouldn’t have even…”

The human doesn’t look at him like he’s afraid, just unsure, so unsure and sort of in denial enough so it makes Gabriel want to grab him and scream for answers. When Dean backs up against the cabinets he lunges, keeping control of himself minutely so that the moment he reaches Dean he can calm himself down enough to only touch him gently. 

Dean still flinches, still shakes his head with some purpose in mind and looks away. Gabriel doesn’t make him look, only holds on a little tighter. 

“He didn’t…” Dean starts back up again like a long neglected toy now winded up again, “he wasn’t trying to rape me. He wanted… he was trying to save me, Gabe. It wasn’t even for his own benefit, I think, it was… it was… the look on his face,” tears start to fall down his reddened cheeks, giving Gabriel plenty of room in his head for guilt, for pushing too hard. Still, he lets his hands hold on a little tighter, “He was trying to save me. The blood wasn’t all mine. Lucifer…”

Gabriel stares into his eyes more deeply, “What are you saying, Dean? That he’s suddenly a good guy now, that he’s…?”

The archangel scoffs and let’s go of Dean with disgust, backing up and suddenly Dean’s the one after him this time. Eyes pleading through thick tears that are so familiar Gabriel hates them, wants to wipe them all away because he’s seen enough to last a lifetime. Hands reaching for the only thing they can realistically grab onto at this point. Gabriel won’t allow it though, he can’t stand being touched by the human in this moment. 

He knows it’s cruel, he doesn’t care. 

“I’m sor…”

“Yeah, Dean, that’s you. Always so sorry. You _lied_ to me,” Gabriel growls, his hands down by his sides now even though there’s other places where they would wish to be. Just to hold onto something substantial, knock some sense into Dean, make him see the light because he’s breaking before Gabriel again and it’s fucking sickening. 

“I didn’t lie, I just…”

Even before he says the words, the human knows it’s the most bullshit excuse he could ever give. Not telling Gabriel can even be viewed as worse than lying. Especially since the archangel has let him in and vice versa, and he should have shared this with him. Dean knows that. 

“It doesn’t change anything,” he tries, tries because it isn’t all a lie. 

“Just go, Dean.”

The human’s face nearly breaks and he wonders if he should chance taking another step closer. Gabriel looks beyond pissed and Dean really can’t blame him for that. Neither of them know how they should view Loki at this point, and Dean knows that Gabriel still wants him to hate him, in his own way, but Dean can’t find the strength to. 

“Just go…”

Gabriel slips out of the room. Dean follows but finds he regrets it even though he was pretty sure he would do nothing but regret it. Gabriel slams the door in his face and it still burns even though Dean was prepared for it. Still makes his face fall far and fast.

Gabriel can’t help but think that Dean couldn’t have been more wrong… this changed _everything._

Dean closes his eyes, rubs a shaking hand over his face and through his hair. He tries not to stare at the closed door but he does, tries not to think, tries hard not to remember…

 

“Dean, wake up.”

There’s a gentle hand on his shoulder, one that doesn’t burn… yet. 

He opens his eyes hesitantly, mostly because he knows they will be pried open if he doesn’t at least make an effort. There’s a hand wrapping around his back and he pushes away, like a fool because he knows there’s no reason to anymore, Lucifer will grab onto him tighter and it will hurt even more than his shattered hope. 

“There’s no time for that, come on.”

The voice is gentle and it doesn’t quite sound like Gabriel or Lucifer, kinda a mix between the two and Dean finds it surprising that it doesn’t hurt in any way, doesn’t send the word danger screaming shrilly across his mind. 

He looks towards the direction of the window briefly, watches the flames dance erratically, far enough away for him not to panic. He listens to his ragged breathing because it helps to ground him, move away from this new situation even though it’s impossible to ignore. 

Dean stares at Loki, knows it’s him somehow and that this isn’t a trick. He still doesn’t want to move though. 

“Let me help you up.”

“No stop,” Dean tries because it hurts too much to move, to do anything but just lie there on the damn cot and try not to think of Sam and Lucifer and pain. 

Loki pauses for a moment before glancing towards the door that only leads out of here to more pain and suffering. When his eyes, not black but still dark, fall back down to Dean they look determined, and the human can’t help but gulp at that. His chest heaves with the pressure that builds up, courtesy of the pain, as Loki leans down to whisper in his ear. 

“I’m going to get you out of here. And you don’t have to do anything, just promise not to scream.”

Dean breathes hard through the growing fear, “How can I trust you?” _Correction, I can’t._

“What other choice do you have, Deano?”

He shakes his head, just wants to be left alone more than anything. 

“Little one,” Loki begs, “please.”

The trickster doesn’t waste time in picking him up. Dean groans, protests a little more by moaning but doesn’t scream. He doesn’t want Lucifer back in here, fucking with his head, for anything. 

It hurts to be carried, burns to be jostled around but in the god’s firm but not crushing hold he feels secure. Feels safe. 

Until the moment he catches sight of Lucifer that is. 

Lucifer takes a hold of the trickster but Loki’s faster and the devil’s only able to scratch him, by what the human can see, before the two of them are out of there, away from the pit, away from the ever present fire. 

The pain screams at Dean for release now, the cries that stick in his throat like glue and cause tears to rush to his eyes, paralyzing him. He stumbles and Loki lowers him gently down, onto the icy cold concrete but it feels like heaven on his burning body. Loki hovers above him, hands pulling back his clothes and Dean almost thinks he’s going to rape him for a second before realizing that the monster, his surprising rescuer, is only checking over his body to see the extent of the damage. 

Dean gasps when his fingers find their way to his belly, as they skim across the surface lightly with their cold touch and it numbs the pain a little bit so it’s more bearable. 

“Loki…?” He asks curiously, wincing, teeth digging into his gums because it hurts. But it hurts less than if he were in hell. 

The human stares up at Loki, who doesn’t maintain eye contact with him yet but instead continues to look over his body. It takes him forever to move up to his busted face, takes even longer for him to run a careful finger down one of his probably fractured cheeks. 

“What are you doing…?”

“Helping you,” Loki answers, eyes flitting to Dean’s pain filled ones nervously. 

Dean lets out a small moan because it’s futile to hold it back, a moan of pain and surprise and suspicion that should probably be fiercer than it is. He can’t be mad though, can’t be fearful because being with Loki is better than being with the devil. 

That’s all he knows.

“Why?”

“Because he hurt you.”

As if that could be the answer to everything. Coming from the trickster it sounds laughable. 

Dean licks his lips, can’t stop from blacking out a little. But even through the ever growing darkness he still manages to notice the blood isn’t only coming from him. 

“You’re bleeding,” he whispers, eyes flickering open and shut. 

The trickster glances down at himself for barely half a second.“It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you’re safe.”

Loki hovers closer now and Dean finds it bearable. Hopes it’ll stay this way for just a little while longer because the god seems sorry, seems really really fucking sorry and the human finds it kind of beautiful. 

 

Balthazar figured Gabriel would have stopped by. Is actually surprised and disappointed that he didn’t come to take Sam back to his brother, where he belongs. He wouldn’t have held back, he’s smart enough for that, he just would have given Sam right over with no protests because he can see in Sam’s barely awake eyes that he misses Dean terribly and while Balthazar may find the eldest Winchester incredibly pigheaded and annoying at times, he recognizes the unbreakable bond and respects it. 

Respects it because he had one just as strong before he and Castiel went their separate ways and ended up severing it with aberrant intent. It was quite possibly the worst day of his life. 

“You want Dean.”

“Gee,” Sam rubs a tired hand over his face, eyes the extravagant room briefly and snorts. “How’d you guess?”

He hasn’t been awake for long but Sam is an open book to him now, his arms are already crossed and mind cleared of its misty haze. Overall, he’s pissed and worried and Balthazar just wishes he would relax for one moment. 

“It’s the only thing you ever want, Sam. I would take you back too, except for the fact that I think it’s better to stay here for the time being.”

Sam looks away from him, towards the window on the far side of the room that holds nothing of any great importance, just trees as far as the eye can see. “Yeah, whatever.”

By the way Sam isn’t arguing, Balthazar knows he won’t have to put up with any retaliation… yet. Still, he’s getting more restless by the second and so is the angel just by watching. He gets up and starts pacing and Balthazar remains on the bed, but finds it incredibly hard to do so. He doesn’t like it when one or the other Winchesters is in distress, but because he finds a small portion of his grace tug him towards the youngest, he most certainly would give anything not to see him like this. 

“Let me ask you something.”

His ears perk up a little. 

“How much do you trust, Gabriel?”

The angel’s eyes widen in astonishment at Sam’s beyond serious tone and voice and facial expressions. He cannot believe that this is coming out of his mouth. 

“I thought you were the only one that had blind trust in him?”

Sam shrugs and looks away, and for a second Balthazar wonders if he’s giving up until he gets back in the game mere moments later. “I did. I do, I just… there’s something off about him. And with the whole Michael situation I honestly don’t know who to turn to. I just need to know that Dean’s safe with him, like I know he is. I’m not going to be able to live with myself with these second thoughts, and I can’t do this alone either. We need to start dealing with his two dick brothers, and maybe we need to be dealing with him at the same time, or just watching him, I don’t know. I’m so lost at this point.” He drops his head into his hands. 

Balthazar sighs, seems like the peaceful moments he had with the sleeping Sam earlier are over. 

“You want me to tell you about Gabriel, then I will. Just take note that you might not particularly like or trust anything that you hear from me.”

Sam moves closer and he can’t help but feel undeniable warmth at that movement, “It’s fine. I’m ready,” he sits on the bed, beside the angel once more. 

_No, Sam. You’re not ready in the slightest._

 

Yeah, Dean’s in good hands now. 

That’s what he has to keep telling himself, convincing himself of because if he doesn’t he will go insane with the lust and undeniable want he has for Dean, a human more delectable and misunderstood than all the rest. Gabriel understands this, sees it as clearly as he does, but Gabriel also doesn’t know who Dean is, what he’s capable of doing and knows nothing about his link with hell, the deep, altering effect it had on him. 

There’s still visible scars from the time he paid, from the flames licking his beyond gorgeous form, as if they couldn’t get enough as well. Maybe it’s because Gabriel ignores it, chooses not to see it, but one thing that Loki knows for sure is that the archangel doesn’t know Dean the way he does. 

Doesn’t see the malicious intent and the fact that even if Dean were able to piece himself back together, the unrelenting fighter in him wouldn’t be the only thing to reawaken. 

The need for both simple and intricate carving lies in him still, the love of the mere feel of skin, of watching it break and blood start to spill out as pure and sure as anything Dean has felt in a long time. 

The wanting of just mere praise from Alistair, which he hasn’t had in ages, and maybe that’s why Lucifer wants him so much, maybe it isn’t this whole plan he’s talking about.   
Maybe it’s just lust. 

And if it is… well, let’s just say that Loki isn’t handing him over that easy. 

Except he just did, to Gabriel, and he isn’t doing anything about it right now. But why? Why can’t he actually bring himself to prove how powerful he is, how he believes that Dean could never _truly_ belong to Gabriel? Sure, they’re a cute couple but they’re not meant to be. How could they be when Dean is so tainted and Gabriel is painful to watch even now. So stripped of his angelic personality, his grace rushing into humanity. Hell, he might as well be a human. And a vulnerable, pitiful, _pathetic_ one at that. 

_He can’t keep those thoughts intact though, before they dissipate._

Loki knows it must be the way Gabriel handles Dean. Not exactly in the physical sense, though he can tell Dean’s appreciating that more and more, it’s more the way he holds him with his eyes, with curiosity and full awareness and general concern but it isn’t even that exactly. 

He thinks it’s the archangel’s uncertainty on how to handle Dean. He fears him, he sees it because he knows that fear all too well. Dean isn’t a mere human, he’s something so much more, has the capacity for who knows what and sometimes Loki thinks that it must scare Gabriel out of his heavenly wits. There’s a certain hesitance when he lays his fingers on him, reaches out with his grace because Dean isn’t broken yet, and the part of Dean that isn’t broken yet is the part that’s clinging onto the dark, onto the past and hell and Sammy’s long gone version of Lucifer and still the reason that Gabriel could be working against him as he lies there in his arms. 

Just because he chooses to block it out, doesn’t mean it won’t resurface. 

Yep, that must be it. This must be another sweet thing to watch since he’s bored out of his wits and long past worrying what Lucifer will do to him as a consequence of taking Dean when he finally manages to catch up with him. 

_Gabriel, you’re in for one hell of a ride._

_And I can guarantee you, by the time it’s over you’ll never want to see Dean again._

Loki chuckles, laughs gleefully, can’t help but start counting down the hours until it all goes wrong. 

 

It takes ten minutes in the bathroom for Gabriel to hear the warning signs going off in his head that were probably trying to grab his attention the whole time, even when he was with Dean. 

_Especially when he was with Dean._

It also takes him those same ten minutes to realize how much of an idiot he is. Yeah, Dean was a dick for lying to him, an even bigger dick for saying that it didn’t mean a damn thing. But abandoning him, just on a whim couldn’t have been more wrong and he realizes that painfully now. 

In that eleventh minute he feels stupid and guilty and worried beyond belief because Loki… _Loki?_

He growls and his hands slip off the ceramic sink as his amber eyes flicker up to his devilish appearance. His eyes are dark and angry, hands clenching even though he gives it everything he has for them to unclench. The hair he pushes back is overgrown, face outlined by shadows and rage found in nearly every exhausted crevice. 

The archangel’s wearing himself down, digging himself a hole and finding it to be a nice home. Alone, in a dirt filled world of his own creation, dragging the human he loves down with him. This won’t do, not when he has Dean to take care of, not when his grace is waning away with every passing day without his wings. 

“Shit Dean. The things you do to me, I swear…”

He laughs a little because Dean is driving him insane, and he wonders how Sam could have lived with him for so long because of it. Probably because he’s worth it, everything about Dean is worth it. Worth saving and treasuring and loving. 

Gabriel feels the coldest feeling he’s ever felt crawl up his spine. Dean isn’t in their room anymore. He hasn’t been taken but he’s not beyond the door anymore. He’s just… gone. And it’s the strangest feeling because it’s not panic and it’s not even concern, just the epiphany that there’s so much they’ve put off talking about and now they need to make up for lost time. 

Starting back from when he fell under Lucy’s blade. 

And then a surge of emotion bursts up out of him abruptly and he can’t hold back its onslaught as his hands fumble for the doorknob and throw open the bathroom door, fully aware he’ll be nowhere in sight. 

“Dean, I’m sor… Dean!”

The human’s gone and Gabriel feels more than just responsible. He feels like a stupid idiot and he allows that to spur him out of the door and into the early evening. Dean’s left behind a trail of leaves he’s unknowingly crushed under his heavy boots, the scent of cinnamon and whiskey on the air leading him certainly even though he doesn’t need any guides. 

Dean doesn’t want to be followed, he can feel it, but fuck what he wants because it’s time to talk. Time to drag Dean back up from whatever hole he’s fallen into and maybe… just maybe he can make it out of his own personal one as well. Even if it could be compared to a shot in the ever-looming dark.


	9. Awake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Featured: Title of the chapter and lyrics are from Filter’s “Take a Picture”.  
> A/N: Hope you enjoy the chapter. There’s a lot going on in my life lately, so hence the long wait for an update, especially on this because there’s so much internal speculation, writing and then the editing. Just wanted to tell all you wonderful readers that the long wait between chapters does not mean I’m losing interest, I’m still dedicated to this. And thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and story alerts. It means a lot to know that you guys are still enjoying. Things are starting to get explained a little in this chapter, but the next chapter, part three, will really pick up; whereas, this is the effect of wanting to give Dean and Gabriel a little break from all the turmoil.

Through the Dirt

Chapter 8 

Pt. 2: Awake

 

_~Can everyone agree that they_  
Should not be left alone  
And I feel like a newborn  
Kicking and screaming  
Could you take my picture  
Cause I won’t remember~

 

The woods are still and quiet as he trudges through them. The whole place is a ghost town, no car by the Impala’s in the parking lot and the owner hasn’t been seen for weeks. The two Winchester brothers have been here for a little under a week but it feels infinitely longer, feels like home now to Gabriel who’s been here even less. 

Just because everything is silent though, doesn’t mean that it set the archangel on edge any less. 

He figures Dean couldn’t have gone far because he doesn’t have much of a head start on him, and something tells him that Dean won’t just take off now, not with what he’s, _they’ve,_ all just been through. 

It’s a chilly night and it’s getting darker by the second. The sunset’s about to fall around him and he wants to share it with Dean out here, undisturbed and the eerie stillness giving them time to talk more about things that need to be talked about, words that must be spoken. 

What Dean said before… as much as he doesn’t want to admit it… changes everything. 

It’s painful to realize that he knows next to nothing about Loki, about his agenda and relationship with Lucifer. When Gabriel went to rescue the human, Lucifer wasn’t there, when Gabriel thought that Loki was at the center of all the horror inflicted upon his hunter, Dean might have just proved him wrong and as mad as he is for this newfound truth, he’s happy that at least Dean didn’t wait longer to tell him. 

The woods are getting deeper, branches thicker and closer together as there’s hardly any space for him to squeeze in between the trees. It’s amazing how there’s no sound, no chirping of birds or rattling of bugs, no sound of Dean up ahead trudging through the thick underbrush. The night is only getting colder and Gabriel is only getting more restless. 

That’s when he notices a clearing up ahead, the vibrant, deep purple sunset breaking through the far edges of the sky and enshrouding him in its violet darkness. Suddenly he can hear the soft sound of water running and the gentle swaying of the trees around him. He walks carefully, not wanting to give himself away to Dean yet and not wanting to break the comfortable silence either. 

When he sees the human he lets go of the breath he’s been holding and lets his presence be known but walking more loudly and carelessly before speaking, “It’s getting cold.”

“I can hardly feel it.”

Dean is humming what sounds like Metallica when he collapses beside him on the shore of the lake, the water lapping close to Dean but not touching him. Dean stares at everything but him, the water, the fine sand beneath him, even the shore across from him where nothing can be seen or heard. 

He waits for Dean to glance over at him but he doesn’t. He starts talking first. 

“I should have told you sooner. I know that, I just didn’t think I could.” He skips a rock into the water as soon as he’s done running his fingers along its smooth, unbroken surface, “Wasn’t ready to.”

Gabriel scoots closer. Dean goes on, “I didn’t ask you to come you know. Or stay,” he adds. He still doesn’t look at him, Gabriel feels like he may know why too.

He tenses when Dean says those things even though he knows he wants him to be here right now. There’s so many things that he wants to say but none of them seem to be enough or plan on making any minuscule amount of difference. Dean seems like he needs to talk, get things off his chest and because of that he’ll be quiet, just enjoy the way Dean looks next to him, so beautiful and Gabriel can’t imagine that that beauty is his. 

That Dean is his. 

“I don’t want this, Gabe. I don’t want any of this.”

“I know,” he whispers, staring up at the sky as the moon breaks through the illustrious clouds. As the stars begin to shine through the mottled gray of the sky that’s fading away to a glistening peach color. 

The dark circles under the human’s eyes are vanquished now, instead his hazel eyes shimmer magnificently. There’s no tears but they aren’t empty either, instead, when he looks over at Gabriel there is longing held within them. 

The archangel scoots even closer to wrap his arms around him, feeling Dean start to shiver a little now that the chill of the night has set in. He smiles as he kisses the back of Dean’s neck slowly, feels Dean lean further back into him as a result of the gesture. 

Gabriel continues to plant kisses to his neck and hair, staying gentle as he moves up to his cheeks and forehead. Dean gives him better purchase by turning his head and meeting Gabriel’s lips. They share the moment slowly and softly, keeping it romantic and memorable. The archangel gets the feeling that Dean wants more but neither of them pushes or pulls away. They both want to take this slow, Dean because he’s so unsure and Gabriel because he wants Dean so badly that he can’’t dare ruin it. 

When Dean pulls away he leans up against Gabriel, their foreheads meet and arms wrap around each other when the day gives way to full darkness. Dean is happy and he can sense it with him being so close and so permanent. 

“But I’m ready to fight,” Dean suddenly speaks. “I’m sick of being afraid, of not being able to do anything. It’s bullshit.”

He looks at Dean carefully, “I know you are. And I’ve got your back… always.”

The archangel just wishes that he wouldn’t have to fight is all. Wouldn’t have to put his precious human on the line and just hope he’ll have the strength to protect him from all the darkness the world holds. 

They’ll worry about that tomorrow though. This moment’s too important to interrupt now. 

 

When Balthazar finishes speaking the confessions that he hates to remember, let alone talk about, he wishes he wouldn’t have told Sam anything. Wishes that he would have just kept Gabriel’s little secret and gone about his day refusing to tell the youngest Winchester anything because now he is angry and worried and so human that Balthazar can’t stand seeing it. 

That’s why when he’s done he walks away, to look outside the window that reveals nothing to his searching eyes, away from the Winchester that he can barely look at now, now that he’s told it all. 

“Well, wait a minute,” Sam stands up but he doesn’t look back. “Balthazar, you can’t just tell me that and not expect me to get pissed and worried. I want to see, Dean. Right now, I want to see him!”

_Why am I even here? Why do I care in the first place about two boys who ended up getting me killed not so very long ago at all. It doesn’t make any sense, then again, neither do Gabriel’s actions._

“Sam, your brother is safe,” his fingers brush against the drapes, visions of clouds swirling around in his head like overstuffed pillows made of cotton candy. He tries to block out the pain of the words, of the memories but that was always one thing about Gabriel, the one thing that could aggravate him so much and it was that you couldn’t forget what he told you, what he showed you. Even if you couldn’t believe him in your right mind, you still knew it was Gabriel and that was that. 

He was an archangel, pure and simple, and the way he looked upon things, humans, was envied by his kind, would always be because archangels weren’t only stronger, they were smarter, quick observers, experts at just about everything except human emotions, of course. The one area that could never be conquered. 

Maybe that was what Gabriel wanted to understand now, and Balthazar had this not so very trivial at all fear that in order to reach that goal, one would have to fall. 

Then again, Gabriel had already fallen in a sense and had instantly become a victim to the human’s emotions, a slave to his uniqueness and his ways and means that were as misunderstood as the archangel was to the angel. But Balthazar figured he understood Gabriel just a little more now. And it was the most amazing feeling, having what was equivalent to storm clouds that he thought could never be crossed, now a witness to their dissipation and it wasn’t only that, he was on his way to recognizing human feelings too, and it was both frightening and awe-inspiring. 

He wanted to _feel,_ share the experience because he couldn’t allow himself to be more than a witness alone. 

Sam was _here,_ Sam was human and going through so much right now and he wanted, he _just_ needed to have a morsel of that. 

Balthazar never could understand why the archangel left it all behind, now that’s all he could understand. There had been so much longing and so much that he never could have hope of knowing about humanity if he was refused the privilege, the _necessity_ to experience it himself. Gabriel hadn’t even abandoned his home because he wanted a brief yet monumental taste of it, he had only left to run, hid himself away in tainted lies and it had been sickening to Balthazar back then but now? Despite how frustrating humans were, how painful they were to watch but even more to be around, it was unlike _anything._

Sam wouldn’t be able to see this though, if anything, it would be the last thing he would figure out. 

All the more fun for the angel. 

“I don’t care if he’s safe or not. Does he even know?”

Balthazar hangs his head a little, having broken away from the ephemeral dream and Sam scoffs, looks away angrily and plops back down on the bed, doesn’t respond when Balthazar says his name. 

“Sam!”

“What?”

“I’m on your side.”

If anything’s true that is because he can’t leave now, wouldn’t be able to stand himself. 

Sam lays down on the bed, closes his eyes for a split second and the next time they open Balthazar is still at the window, face still blank and Sam searches it despite the distance they have between them. He knows what he just said wasn’t a lie, but now he doesn’t know if he can trust Gabriel or not. Dean is the person that means the most to him and he will never trust or place anyone before him. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep him safe, even if it means killing everyone in his path. 

“Gabriel won’t hurt Dean. I’m sure of it.”

“And how can I be sure of you?”

He doesn’t expect an answer, he just turns over on his side cause he doesn’t want to look at the angel anymore, wants to be left alone or be back with his brother. He needs to know what Dean’s doing right now, needs _proof_ not assurances that Gabriel won’t try something. Sam wishes that if he were to go to the window and look out of it, that he would see Dean, smiling, saying he’s fine like he always does and telling him Gabe’s okay. He doesn’t have any murderous intents for either of them. 

There’s silence and he hates it, his mind goes over Gabriel’s supposed look at Dean, his thoughts of how unimportant he was, his words that someday he would be assigned to kill Sam but it would be all the same if it was the other way around. 

He can’t imagine what could draw the archangel to like Dean now, doesn’t want to try to imagine it, just wants him to leave so he doesn’t have to worry about his brother constantly and the mess he’s getting himself into. 

“You wanted to know, Sam. I’m sorry if I disappointed you.”

“No,” Sam feels loss and it’s molding into something stronger with each pressing moment. “I disappointed myself.”

When he dreams, he dreams the strangest things. 

 

Dean falls asleep after a while, his head a dead, yet so incredibly comforting weight on Gabriel’s shoulder. He doesn’t have the energy, not even to put Dean into a better position and he’d be afraid to wake him even if he did. 

Gabriel maneuvers his jacket off very carefully, slides it across Dean’s shoulders and wraps it tightly around him, kissing his forehead gently before his attention is back on the lake and so many other things he’d just appreciate to put off for a few years at least. This is the perfect moment, to think about everything he’s done so far and all that he still needs to do. Now that he’s one-hundred percent positive that Dean, the person he loves the most and is no longer afraid to admit it to himself and the world and heaven, is safe and happy and sleeping peacefully, he’ll waste the night away in memories and future moments he may one day be able to share with the human leaning against him. 

He skips a rock into the lake, watches the full moon shimmer on the cool and quiet surface of the water, hears Dean snuffle and move around a little before relaxing back against the archangel again. He wraps an arm tighter around him and runs a hand briefly through his hair before realizing the most important thing of all: he needs to tell Dean, everything, that nothing else matters but his love for Dean and the ways he’s willing to put that unbelievably human emotion on display, is actually excited to. 

_Everyone may stand in the way and yet it doesn’t matter anymore because they’re of no use._

_They’ll just have to keep on trying and failing and trying again because I will heal Dean, and I will love him because there is nothing else in this human life I’m on the brink of leading that could ever matter except for the steady pressure against my shoulder. The unwavering presence that fights so hard just to hang onto his sanity and his deepening feelings for me._

_Oh, Dean, you’re so beautiful. You just don’t get it do you?_

He smiles, keeps on fighting back the urge to kiss Dean’s eyelids senselessly until his eyes drift open, because he wants to see the first emotion that will register in them. He wants to love Dean with no break, no time for rest or reprieve, wants to just give it all away and more and…

Gabriel snaps back to reality, listens to the human’s steady and perfect breathing, the slight puff of air from his slightly parted mouth through his shirt.

He’s starting to feel the cold now but it doesn’t matter, he can’t leave this place and everything that it means. Can’t stop, turn his back on what he has to have now. He’s had his eyes set on Dean for so long and it no longer burns to give into that lust; it no longer feels right to just walk away and pretend none of this exists. 

The archangel’s made up his mind, he’ll speak his mind tomorrow, say exactly what he wants and what he’s willing to give. 

He curls up closer to Dean, breathing in his one of a kind scent and planting kisses in his hair. It’s surprising how much mere gestures mean to him now. Doesn’t matter if he’s getting or giving. 

It’s looking up to be a gorgeous morning.

 

It’s almost like someone gave him dream root or something, for how utterly real all this feels. He doesn’t even know what the dream’s supposed to be about, just has a distinct feeling that it’s not one his subconscious came up with. It’s definitely been sent to him, though how he doesn’t know and would love to know just so he could throttle the person and complain that he can’t even get a decent night’s sleep anymore. As said before, he has no clue what its purpose is, whether it’s meant to show him something or just taunt him until he wants to gouge his eyes out with spoons. He ends up exploring for what seems like several hours before something draws him further into the town. 

The town is anything but vacant, there are people everywhere but they pay no attention to him, not even when he brushes into them accidentally or intentionally, not even when they crash into him. Not that it’s surprising or anything, it is a dream and dreams are weird. 

He sighs, lets his instincts push himself deeper into the streets and among the growing horde of people. It almost seems like there’s too many but he doesn’t turn back, Sam’s certainly not intimidated or scared or anything like that, he’s merely curious and freaked out enough to keep him alert and wishing more than anything that Dean was beside him like he should always be, like there never even needs to be a question about it. 

And that’s when he sees him, upon thinking of Dean, sees Gabriel. 

Only, this doesn’t seem like Gabriel at all. Not even Loki for that matter. 

He trails the guy, careful to keep a good distance but his curiosity gets the better of him after awhile and he almost gets himself caught. Almost, not quite though. 

This guy’s vibe, the way he walks and greets other people on the street proves immediately that this isn’t an archangel or a demigod for that matter. He is the exact person Sam’s looking for though. 

When he heads into a bakery, Sam first considers waiting outside before thinking better of it and going in. The guy just seems so cheerful and _human,_ without a single troubling thought on his mind and it puzzles Sam, especially when he starts whistling after grabbing his steaming hot cup of coffee and grabs a crossword puzzle book out of his back pocket, followed by a pencil that was lodged behind his ear. Sam sits at a nearby table astonished, trying to grab the smallest morsel of information from this but what is he even supposed to be looking for? The guy is completely oblivious and it isn’t just because he couldn’t see Sam even if he wanted to, he’s just completely lost in his own little ‘crossword puzzle’ world and it’s so fascinating to watch for merely a few moments, to forget about his own life and his own problems just to see someone else not worn down by life in the slightest bit. 

He thinks he’s headed in the right direction when he assumes that this is Gabriel’s vessel, and Loki’s for that matter, though he still doesn’t really get it because how could they possess the same person at the same time? It just makes no…

_Wait a minute..._

Sam cautiously looks around, still can’t seem to grasp onto the fact that no one can see him and what an advantage that really is. He isn’t an idiot though, as if it’s all gonna stay this easy. He thinks hard about what Balthazar told him, tries to find a loophole somewhere. 

Someone starts talking near him and he looks up on instinct, sees nothing but two people having a conversation at a nearby table. He barely gives them a glance before focusing on _him._ The pencil in his grip is moving at a rapid pace and after a while the Winchester gets tired of watching him, almost wishes he could order a cup of coffee even though the money that’s supposed to be in his back pocket isn’t there and it’d basically be like talking to a brick wall. Sam looks around the cafe, watches the people come and go, becomes engrossed in a short-lived argument at the front counter between an employee and a frustrated customer. 

_Arguing over coffee, really? Buddy, you should see what problems I’ve got, let alone live with them from day to day._

“Hey.”

He looks up wildly because the voice is so near that he must be talking to him. True enough, he is, and even more strange and awesome than that is that it’s the guy he’s been watching going on for twenty minutes now. He doesn’t even have time to wonder how he can see him because he’s blown away and has way too many questions for just these few short minutes. 

Plus, his dream could end any minute now. 

Sam decides to try it anyway, “Gabriel?”

The guy instantly looks confused and lets his undivided attention towards Sam go for a minute to look behind and around him. “Who?”

He stares at the person who’s not Gabriel for a few moments, tries to figure out if there’s any trace of a poker face that he needs to break through. That’s just it though, there’s nothing and he can’t say whether he’s more tense or more relaxed. 

“Never mind. What can I do for you?”

He looks at him curiously but wears a light smile on his face, “You’re not from around here are you?”

“Uh... no. What does that have to do with anything though?”

The guy smiles wider and briefly touches Sam’s shoulder, “It’s fine. You’re welcome as much as everyone else is. We love new people so come drop by and see us if you ever feel like it.”

And with that he leaves and Sam can do nothing but stare after him in shock before reading the card that was so discretely placed into his hand. 

_Wait a minute… the guy works for a church in town?_

Which would make sense considering angels need a vessel, _a person_ who not only believes in a higher power but chooses that fate for themselves. Too bad they’re not told _all_ the details of that choice.

Or are given the chance to live to see the mistakes of this decision. 

He remembers Jimmy for the first time in ages, remembers his bloodied corpse forced unwillingly into the river and all that happened after that. He’s barely had time to think about him with all that’s been going on for the past couple of years, but he can’t help but painfully do so now. He feels bad for him, so sorry but it was also what he chose.

_If he had only known exactly what he was getting himself into._

_Same with this guy. The things Gabriel would do to him without his permission._

Sam shivers a little before turning away from the window and sitting back in his chair, relaxing a little because he doesn’t have much time to do it in real life and has to take it when he can. 

_Maybe I will go. Maybe I’ll find out everything there is to know about you…_

He glances down at the card to read it again. 

_Steven Dancer._

“Sound pansy. Guess Gabriel didn’t have much of a choice though.”

And with that he smiles at his first clue and soars back up to consciousness. 

 

“You’re not doing this are you?”

Balthazar tears his eyes away from the window, his vessel’s forehead wrinkling up in confusion, suspicion and worry. “Doing what?” He makes a move to come nearer but the human doesn’t pay him any mind, merely lays back down and places his hands behind his head. If he’s gonna be stuck here he might as well learn _something._

Sam smiles for a brief moment, is so happy he’s in the loop, even if Balthazar does end up knowing everything already, just before he drops back down into dreamland again.  
This time, there is no cafe or bustling streets to join and explore. There’s trees swaying in the wind and comfortable silence sometimes mingled with soft voices and laughing. It seems so peaceful that he just wants to drift for a while. He can’t though, he needs to know what’s going on with his limited time. 

Sam opens his eyes and scans the small groups of people gathered here and there, excitedly chattering or merely smiling and nodding. They don’t pay any mind to him and Sam assumes that none of them can see him, like before, until a young girl comes rushing up to him, places fingers on his forehead and...

He blacks out. 

 

Dean can’t help but smile as he slowly drifts up to consciousness. Opening his eyes is too tiresome at this point, he merely focuses on the warmth of Gabriel pressed up tightly against him. It’s beyond comfortable and perfect, and he never wants to leave the archangel’s embrace, he doubts he would find anything else he’d rather spend his time doing. 

“You gonna lie there pretending to be asleep for another hour or what?”

The hunter smiles wider and lets his eyes flip open, now easier than before after all of his other senses have slowly adjusted to his surroundings. “Just want to enjoy you while I can.” _While I’m still alive, before I get sucked into another even bigger mess._

“You’ll always be here to _enjoy_ me, Dean. I’ll always be here with you.” Dean groans in bliss at that and presses himself even tighter into Gabriel’s embrace, and the archangel proves his adoration by nuzzling his head against Dean’s own. More than anything, the hunter wants to feel Gabriel’s wings wrapping around him. He has no idea what the sensation could feel like, the things that it would do to him, start up in him, and he won’t bring it up because of the pain it would no doubt cause Gabriel. But he still thinks about it, still _dreams_ about it, even though not being able to see an angel’s wings probably means no to the touching thing too. 

He can’t even begin to tell Gabriel how appreciative he is of him just giving up his wings like that. There are no possible words to thank him for it, and Dean knows he will never ever be able to repay the favor, no matter the degree of his wanting. He’s merely showing his thanks now by not bringing it up, knowing Gabriel will forever hold inside the emptiness and there’s not a damn thing he can do about that. He’s also working on showering Gabriel with affection, trying trying trying to be better, be stronger, and now, with Gabriel right here, he’s determined more than ever before. 

“By the way,” Gabriel starts to pull away a little and Dean sits up, coming to a complete consciousness that he partly hates and partly loves. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Dean stands up, gaging his surroundings. He rubs his neck in disappointment, eyes Gabriel curiously though not suspiciously, “Now?”

Gabriel nods, “Now.” And Dean can tell that this is something that can’t wait, not for another minute. 

“Dean!”

The older Winchester starts at the sound of his voice being called back near where the motel is. His ears strain for more sound, but not for long before he starts running. _Sam..._

Gabriel hangs back for a second, pissed and jealous, but he realizes he better not be stupid enough by letting Dean out of his sight for another second, aware of the danger that surrounds him everywhere and a whole hell of a lot of it is due to the archangel. He walks first but then runs, missing Dean more than he had ever thought possible. 

 

Sam sees Dean up ahead and starts walking, desperate to touch him, to confirm he’s real and not just a twisted figment of his imagination. When he reaches Dean, he slams his entire body into him like he’s done only a few times before, holding Dean tightly and refusing to let him go. He lets himself sink deeply into his big brother’s embrace. After everything the both of them have been through, they still have each other. They will _always have each other._

He opens his eyes after several long moments and notices Gabriel, standing off to the side and just watching them, smiling lightly and Sam pulls himself away from Dean and heads over to him. Gabriel holds out his hand, presumably to shake and Sam wants to hit him for being so stupid, for acting like he isn’t a part of their family, their _brotherhood_ now. He grabs the archangel and engulfs him into a gigantic hug. _Thank you, for protecting my brother, for giving me hope._

It takes a few minutes, but Gabriel’s hands eventually reach Sam’s back and they pat it awkwardly, Sam can’t help but laugh at that. He never wants this moment to end, and when Balthazar steps out from the depths of the motel room and walks over to them, seeming as happy and as relived as Sam is, he has hope that maybe it won’t end. They all belong here, they’ll all protect one another from now on. He throws his suspicions to the side, suddenly regretting them now. 

Sam smiles and fights to hold back tears at the sight of his new family. 

 

Dean settles himself and Gabriel into his bedroom and shuts the door firmly behind him, fully prepared on giving Gabriel more of his time. He had wanted to talk about something before, and Dean is more than just curious at what it is. 

It’s too bad that he can’t even get decent words out before Gabriel is tackling him down onto the bed and starting to pull his clothes off. As pleased as Dean is that this is happening, the words ‘bad timing’ won’t stop screaming across his mind and he curses himself for not being in the mood for this right now, hates himself for what he’s about to do: give the impression that he doesn’t want the archangel when that’s all that Dean wants. _Gabriel._

“Wait,” he pushes Gabriel away only minutely, “you wanted to talk to me about something before.”

“Nah,” Gabriel shoves him off and presses himself closer to Dean, focusing back on his previous intentions. “Nothing important, can wait until later...”

“No,” Dean demands forcefully right back at him. “Tell me now.”

“I just love it when you take control, Deano.” Dean rolls his eyes at that and then rolls away from Gabriel, though not far enough to not be within reaching distance of the archangel. He never wants to be that far away from Gabriel again. He wants to build a life with him, make up for all the lost time, show Gabriel his dedication towards him and only him. He’s getting his strength back and he wants to do this, be strong for Gabriel, be everything Gabriel needs and infinitely more than that. And if Dean didn’t have such a low impression of himself at this point, he wouldn’t be thinking about exactly this as much as he does. 

He can’t seem to resist the hunger he finds in his eyes. “You seem to think it can wait now. So maybe,” he brushes his fingers along Gabriel’s upper arm, showing him he reciprocates his intentions, “this can wait for a minute longer. Right?” 

“Right.” Gabriel nods and sighs with bliss, bringing his hand up to cup Dean’s cheek and smile. However did he find such a perfect human being?

“What are you thinking about?”

Gabriel smirks, “You. I want to buy a house and make love to you fifty times a day and never tire from staring at you. You are so beautiful, Dean. You have no idea what you do to me, you’re driving me so crazy right now. But, but I should tell you something, because we shouldn’t keep secrets anymore, we can’t keep lying. I don’t want to lie to you, Dean, I want to be straight with you.” _But I also can’t have you hating me._ “I need to tell you that I...”

The two jump simultaneously on the bed as they hear the sound of breaking glass outside the door. Dean quickly slips his shirt back on and heads out of the room. Gabriel stares after him and sighs, rubbing a hand across his face roughly, exhausted and frustrated and wanting to throw something at the door to startle Dean into coming right back in here. He decides to wait, figuring Sam broke something, clumsy moose he is. 

After a few minutes, he can’t wait anymore though. He groans, climbing out of bed slowly and approaching Dean as he kneels on the ground, staring at shards of broken glass. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Sam and Balthazar,” Dean responds, looking up at Gabriel with those immensely emotional hazel eyes Gabriel so adores, “they’re gone.”

 

Dean calls Sam’s cell phone about a zillion times, but somehow he doubts that he’s in decent range to use it. He sighs, sick of all this bullshit, of everyone disappearing constantly; he throws his phone down on the table and collapses on the couch, waiting for Gabriel, who headed out about twenty minutes back to survey the surrounding area. 

“Nope,” Dean jumps and curses at the sudden crushing of the intense silence that he was only just starting to sink into. “Nothing around.”

“Well, I could have told you that,” Dean says, annoyed. “Think I should buy you a bell and hang it around your neck, so you don’t try to give me a heart-attack again.” 

The archangel climbs on top of Dean, “Now now, Deano. You would sorely miss me if I didn’t pop in at every possible moment to surprise you. Besides, I think it’s far more likely to have a heart attack in the midst of the wild sex I’m about ready to give you.” He waggles his eyebrows at Dean and something warm starts to grow deep down inside of him, spreading out to every other part of his body and settling down below. Fuck, he hasn’t felt this good in ages, and with Gabriel so painfully and gloriously close, he isn’t even thinking about Loki or Lucifer or Michael. The images dissipate every time Gabriel’s warm amber eyes catch and hold his own. 

But then he thinks about Sam and how he owes him not to do this right now. Not to lose himself in Gabriel right now. He needs to find Sam. 

“No, Gabriel,” he shoves Gabriel away and it feels like the hundredth time that day. “I am _not_ going to take advantage of this situation and turn it into _this._ The archangel crosses his arms and starts to pout at that, but somewhere deep down inside, Gabriel knows Dean’s right, even though he’s extremely bored and at a loss given this situation and really does just want to take advantage of the current moment, where they’re alone and Dean is so close to him, so much stronger and he just wants to shove him down into the couch and have his way with him. But he still says, “Fine,” and flicks the TV on. At least the hunter lets him do that. 

He eyes Dean as he gets up and wanders into the kitchen, “You hungry? Cause I can whip ya up something, kiddo.”

“Maybe, yeah, I don’t know,” Dean throws his arms up into the air, exasperated and so freaking confused and pissed and at a loss for whether he should be giving Gabriel something he wants, like he promised himself, or just go curl up on the bed and go back to sleep, saying fuck consciousness. He collapses at the breakfast bar and puts his head in his hands, only looking up when he hears noises in the kitchen before him. “Thought you could just whip something up?” He can’t help but smile at the sight of Gabriel; he’s so perfect, he’s everything Dean wants, and he’s getting really horny right about now watching him turn the stove on and take various pots and pans and plates and silverware out. 

Gabriel shrugs, “I’m bored.” He takes out some eggs, bread, and what looks deliciously to be bacon. Dean licks his lips and listens to his stomach growling painfully, it _would be_ Gabriel to make him realize how hungry he truly is. He can’t even remember the last time he ate. 

“Gabe....,” he starts to get up but Gabriel gives him one of those looks that he can’t possibly ignore and responds, “Don’t, Dean, just relax. Let me make something for you to eat, we can talk later. It’s fine.”

Dean nods, letting himself relax and vowing to put Gabriel on the top of his list today. He sinks back into the seat upon realizing that he has the rest of the day, and stares at Gabriel dreamily, imagining the happiness that will lie firmly in Gabriel’s eyes, the surprise and love and craving for more. He wants to listen to Gabriel screaming out his name in lust, like it’s the only word the archangel cares about anymore. He wants to climb on top of Gabriel and...

“Pancakes okay with you too?”

Dean nods, licking his lips this time at Gabriel and not the food. 

Shit, he’s not gonna make it. 

 

He eats his breakfast quickly, pleased at his appetite returning just as Gabriel is, and even though the archangel has no need to eat, he still engages in it to please Dean. And it does please him, to no end. Dean never imagined that Gabriel could cook so perfectly, and he moans in pleasure every second he can because it’s damn delicious and fuck it, Gabriel deserves every little gesture of never-ending appreciation he can give him, and he wants him to know that he is so very very wanted at every moment Dean is alive and breathing. 

Gabriel just smiles, scoots closer and pushes a great deal of the food on his own plate onto Dean’s. Dean accepts it and shoves it down with a nice cold glass of milk. “You are so fucking fantastic, you know that? How the hell did you learn how to cook like this?” He asks with his mouth full, and Gabriel lifts up his thumb before thinking better of it and uses his tongue instead to lick off some of the blackberry jam on the side of his mouth and spilling down to his chin. He moans in pleasure at the taste of it and wraps his arms around Dean, kissing him senselessly, wondering how long they can keep this up for before they have to separate again. Cause he is, willing to keep this up that is, for hours if luck will let him. 

“Had plenty of time to learn, kiddo. Glad you’re enjoying.”

Dean glances back at him hungrily and growls into the archangel’s ear, “I want you.” _I want you so badly you have no idea. I have so much to give you, and we have so much time..._

“What?”

“You heard what I said,” Dean responds huskily, his lips brushing his cheek and it’s setting him alight. There’s a fierce fire of lust burning its way through him, and he moans when Dean’s hand slips below the waistband of his pants, locks their mouths together again and revels at how Dean seems to genuinely want _this,_ wants to say fuck the world for one day and spend the time with him. He pulls the hunter’s shirt off, and almost completely melts into Dean when he just can’t stop moaning in ecstasy at the perfection of Dean’s body and being. 

“I know, I just want you to say it again.” Dean smiles and shoves him into the bedroom, slamming the door shut because of habit even though no one else is around. 

“I want you,” Dean relents, and then he lets himself go completely. 

 

Gabriel awakens to Dean sitting up in bed abruptly, causing the bed to creak and his labored breathing to occupy the eerily quiet room. “Nightmare?” He curls around Dean without waiting for a response, snuggling into his chest, letting the feel of him to ground the hunter. Dean calms down, his breathing slowing down just like Gabriel knew it would. He lies back down next to Gabriel hesitantly, pushing himself further into his chosen mate. 

“I’m hungry again.” Gabriel only shakes his head at that and smiles, loving how much he and the eldest Winchester are alike. He couldn’t want anything else, his brother, Michael, could never understand this because he had never felt it. Giving away his wings or losing Dean was no choice at all, he’d do it over and over if it meant Dean could stay with him like this forever. 

Somehow though, he thinks he won’t get forever. 

 

He rolls off of Gabriel unwillingly and would have crashed to the floor if Gabriel had not grabbed onto him, when Balthazar suddenly appears out of nowhere, panting and with Sam nowhere in sight. 

“Oh good,” the angel sighs in relief as he takes in the sight of the hunter and his archangel cuddled up together in bed. He’s happy for the both of them, he really is, but they’ve got bigger problems to deal with. Not to mention, if he could get his bloody breath back maybe he could drill that fact into their super thick skulls. “I managed to get to the right place this time.”

“Balthazar...,” Dean gasps, scooting off the bed but going no closer. “What happened? Where the hell have you been?”

“Michael. That son of a bitch is unrelenting.” Dean shakes the image Balthazar just put into his head, knowing the angel _must_ have said that sentence wrong.

“What happened?” Gabriel demands, unsure what Balthazar being out of breath exactly means, watching him sit down on a chair and clutch his chest. Dean rushes over at that and places his hand on the angel’s shoulder, his unspoken ‘are you okay?’ reverberating loudly throughout the room. Balthazar nods at the Winchester to confirm that he’s alright, that he’ll live, and places a hand on top of Dean’s, which still sits on his shoulder, a gesture of appreciation and friendship. 

“Balthazar!”

“Yes, Gabriel.” He rolls his eyes and becomes relieved at his breathing beginning to return back to normal. He hasn’t exerted himself that much since he doesn’t know when. It’s actually sort of refreshing, but the angel’s more than willing to move past it now. “Alright. I tried to protect Sam but...” He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, not because he’ll be sending Sam’s brother into a panic, but because he has said his own stupid failure out loud. If he can’t protect Sam, what good is he? Whatever punishment Dean wants to serve to him, he’ll take it. 

He can’t ever be given enough time. He still hasn’t told Sam anything, nothing that’s been on his mind, afraid he’ll freak out and judge him for forgetting about all of Dean’s and Gabriel’s issues. Sam doesn’t know how much he means to Balthazar, he doesn’t know how much the angel misses him. And even though Balthazar feels more guilt than jealously over Gabriel getting what he wants, since he’s fully aware of all the shit the archangel has had to get through to make Dean his own, he feels like breaking something or merely just obliterating the room they’re in at this moment. 

They’d be fine, except Dean... Dean’s still human, so he better get those thoughts out of his head before Gabriel latches onto them. 

“But what?” Dean cuts in. “What happened to Sam?”

“I told you, Michael happened. I thought I put him in a safe place, but your dick brother,” he glances over at Gabriel, “managed to find us anyway.”

“What about you?”

He stares at Dean intently, “What about me?”

“Why didn’t he take you?” 

Balthazar scoffs, “How the hell would I know? Hell, I’d rather be with Sam right now. Listen, I figured you two needed some bloody good time alone, so I decided to take Sam and...”

“Yeah, and what right did you have to do that, Balthazar?” Dean accuses, blinded by rage and disbelief at the situation. 

“You stupid, selfish...,” he shakes his head at Dean and figures he’s too exhausted to continue on with his insults. “I was trying to do something decent for you and your pretty little archangel over there, and all you do is throw it right back in my face.” Dean raises his eyebrows, actually surprised that Balthazar would care enough to do that. He swallows down more snarky comments, sick of talking and wanting to act. 

“You know where Michael took him?”

“No. But I suspect Gabriel does. He did want his baby brother to follow him after all.” The two glance over at Gabriel curiously, and Dean waits patiently for him to say something, but clearly he has virtually no patience left. 

“Gabe...,” he starts but then a nagging thought forms in his head. Shit, he can’t let Gabriel go alone, and knowing Gabriel, that’s exactly what he’s going to do. “Don’t, okay?” He climbs back up on the bed and overcrowds the archangel, making sure he’s the only thing he sees in his line of vision. “We just managed to find each other again and you’re gonna take off, just like that?” Gabriel looks straight at him and smiles fondly, trying to burn the hunter’s face into his vision forever, running his fingers through Dean’s hair. He reciprocates Dean’s feelings exactly, the last thing he wants to do is leave now, but he also isn’t going to be greedy. He managed to steal some time with Dean, it doesn’t matter that it wasn’t enough. 

“Don’t wait up for me, kiddo.” He vanishes and Dean wants to tear out all his hair, hell, gouge out his eyes at the unbearable emptiness of the room, but instead settles for sending Balthazar an accusing stare and walking out of the room, needing some serious time alone. Cause if he can’t be with Gabriel, he doesn’t want to be with anyone at all.


End file.
